Mark kissed me like he was at war with himself.

Hard, desperate, filled with restraint that was quickly slipping through his fingers. His hands dug into my hips, pulling me against him, making sure I felt every inch of him—every sharp breath, every unspoken word between us.

I whimpered against his lips, pressing closer, needing more. He tasted like beer, he tasted like a man and mere kissing wasn’t enough. I needed…

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his forehead resting against mine. ...