I don’t do gentle, Mara,” he felt compelled to warn even as he worked his way down from her lips, over her chin, to the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder. He scraped his teeth over the frantic beat of her pulse and reveled in the delica...
Christ, she was like his own personal drug, and he’d been jonesing for more of her since November. And now that he’d had her again, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to quit her. Yeah. He was in trouble.
Men like him, the kind of guys who left the womb fighting? They didn’t get fairy-tale endings. They burned bright until they burned out—and he was burning out.
