Book 14: Worship Me

Soren

Maeve smells incredible. Like her skin, a touch of perspiration, and that heady magnolia scent that curls through my body with each inhale, rewiring my brain. There’s more to it. Things I hadn’t picked up before–like her scent is suddenly intensified. Traces of amber and vanilla. A soft, evening breeze over the lake in Moonrise. A cool, late autumn rain.

She’s delicious. Her skin is soft as silk, and I can’t keep my mouth off her shoulder. I graze my teeth over her skin again, clutching her to me, curling the arm she’s lying on and bending her neck back to give me better access to the soft, tender spot where her pulse is going haywire.

My fingers glide over the waistband of her panties before slipping beneath the elastic. It takes all of my strength not to shutter when her soft skin whispers against my fingers and my palm.

This is the only place where she’s warm–like she has an internal source of heat and power suddenly radiating from h