Zane's hands closed around her hips, sweeping her off the floor before settling her onto the cool surface of the kitchen island.
That tiny spark from the brushed kiss had snapped the last thread of his restraint, exposing the devouring, primal hunger beneath as if she had done it intentionally.
His gaze drifted to the lace of her camisole, the delicate fabric a fragile barrier against his desire from penetrating. He drank the plump sight of her chest that looked firmer, fuller—changed even since the night before, back when he had once felt her softness with his own hands. Her nipples pressed sharply against the fabric sent a violent surge of heat flooding his veins, and he felt a throbbing ache settle low in his manhood to move closer and feel them once again in his lips.
