A Crown of Ashes
Her mind spun—Tomas’s hands on her hips, his slow grind, the way she’d melted—but this was different, sharper, Roman’s heat a live wire she couldn’t let go of.
He leaned in—finally—his lips brushing hers, light, testing, and her breath stopped, a soft whimper slipping out as heat flooded her—sweet, sharp, electric. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling her closer, and she pressed into him—chest to chest, her tank top thin between them—and damn, it was good—his mouth rough, warm, tasting like rain and him, and she wanted more, wanted all of him, wanted to feel him break against her.
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