He didn't just kiss her. He plundered.
It was not a gentle, testing, polite kiss. It was the kiss he had described—a claiming.
His mouth was hot, and firm, and desperate. It was the pent-up frustration of two weeks, of two years, of a lifetime of seeing her as his best friend's untouchable sister. It was the fury of a man who had been pushed to his absolute limit.
And Ines, who had only ever dreamed of this, met him with a small eager gasp. Her hands, which had been splayed on his chest in a gesture of surprise, suddenly clutched. Her fingers fisted in the fine linen of his shirt. She was not pushing him away; she was holding on. She was holding on as the world tilted, as her senses were overwhelmed.
His tongue, hot and wet and tasting of nothing but him, breached her lips, her teeth. It swept into her mouth.
"Oh"
A small, strangled sound, half-moan, half-surprise, was trapped in her throat.
