Leah

His mouth was gentle, hesitant, his fingers tracing instead of gripping, careful instead of demanding.

It frustrated me because all I could think of was a different pair of hands that were rough and possessive. A man who used to kiss me like he wanted to suck the damn air right out of my lungs, devour me, pull me into him until I was a part of him.

I hated that I was comparing them. Hated that he'd been right that no man would ever touch me the way he did. What I hated most was the ...