His response was a low sound in his throat as he shifted closer, heat gathering between us, his presence overwhelming. He nudged my knees apart gently but decisively, gaze never leaving mine.
My breath hitched as I waited for that contact, for him to claim me, for me to feel him inside me, when I recalled something. "Wait," I breathed, pushing lightly against his chest.
He stilled instantly, eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?"
"Condom?" I asked, barely audible.
For a moment, he just stared at me. Then he cursed softly under his breath, forehead dropping briefly against mine. "You're going to be the death of me," he muttered.
He kissed me again, slowly and promisingly, then pulled away abruptly. "Don't move."
Before I could respond, he was already heading upstairs, leaving me sprawled on the couch, breathless, skin on fire, frustration curling tight in my chest, and panting with need.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady my breathing.
