Long, thick fingers had grasped the hem of the light grey shirt and had begun lifting the material up and over your hips while the trail of soft lips had been drawn over your shoulders. Your eyes had fluttered closed as you felt the exhale of warm breath against your neck before electricity sparked your flesh with every stroke of his plump lips.
He intended to ruin you without even trying, without having to touch you where you had wanted most and you were putty beneath his hands. Your soft whines had been hitched and muffled, strained as you were descending the sharp cliffs of desire while he was far too easily disarming you.
“You’re supposed to be getting ready to leave,” your airy gasp comes as Steve dips his hands further along your waist, tantalizingly stroking your goose-bumped skin with the pads of his rough fingers, delightfully and dazzlingly teasing you when he should be focusing on other tasks.
