Greg's hands moved instinctively, tracing the curves of Cammy's body with willful, lingering strokes. His touch was both possessive and reverent, as if he was memorizing every inch of her.
When his palms finally settled over the soft swell of her chest, kneading gently, Cammy let out a breathy sigh against his lips.
The heat between them was undeniable, crackling like a live wire, but she forced herself to break the kiss, resting her forehead against his.
"Greg… You're getting hard," she murmured, her voice uneven, her chest rising and falling against his own. "They might call us for dinner any minute now. We shouldn't…"
Greg let out a frustrated groan, his lips ghosting over her cheek before he exhaled sharply and pulled back. His darkened gaze locked onto hers, filled with a raw, unfiltered hunger.
