" He learned what made her shudder, what made her sigh. He became so attuned to her that every touch of teeth or lips or fingers offered pleasure.
She writhed in his arms, tangling her legs with his, fighting for air. He trailed one hand across her stomach to the soft curls that hid her sex.
She made a soft sound of desire and arched up.
He slipped his hand between her legs. The merest brush of his fingers in her moisture and she jerked in response. She was so sleek and hot.
Not being inside her was torture. But it was still too soon. Even while she shivered and quaked with reaction.
He found one particular place that made her cry out. He scraped his teeth over a tight nipple and touched her between the legs again.
Her spine bowed and she bit back a scream. A hot flood drenched his fingers. His nostrils flared as the scent of her arousal rose stronger, sharper.
How could she call herself a cold woman? She was living flame. She flickered and burned and glowed and her heat warmed him to the depths of his soul.
"Oh, Matthew," she said on a long sigh, opening herself wider to his hand. "Matthew..."
He loved the way she no longer hesitated over his name. He loved the way she moved restlessly under his seeking fingers as if she wanted more.
Perhaps at last she wanted him.
He rained kisses down her ribs and over her belly and across her thighs. Then he used his hands to nudge her legs further apart.
The flushed, plump folds of her sex were as beautiful as any flower. More beautiful. As with any flower, his impulse was to bury his face in it, to inhale its essence. "

― Anna Campbell , Untouched