Perspiration prickles my forehead. When did it get so hot in here?

The weight of his arm presses my body against him and pins me down onto the bed. I have a moment of panic where I think about jumping out of bed.

But that would wake him. A flood of embarrassment hits me at the thought of him seeing me all hot and bothered while he’s been sleeping.

I try to calm down. He’s holding me like a teddy bear while he sleeps peacefully. He’s probably so exhausted that he’s oblivious to me.

His hand is hot on my ribs. I’m exquisitely aware that his thumb lies along the bottom of my breast.

A thought slips into my head. I can’t seem to get rid of it no matter how hard I try to shove it aside.

What would it be like to have Raffe’s hand on that part of my body?

I’m seventeen years old, going on eighteen, and I’ve never had a guy caress my breast. The way things are going, I probably never will, at least, not in a good, loving kind of way. In an apocalyptic world, violence is guaranteed and good experiences are just a dream. That makes me want to feel it in a good way all the more. Something gentle and sweet that should have happened in due time with the right guy if the world hadn’t gone to hell.

While my head rages in argument and confusion, my hand covers his. Gently, oh, so gently. What would it be like to have Raffe’s hand caress my nipple?

Really?

Am I really thinking this?

But thinking is not the right word for what’s going on inside me. It’s more of an . . . urge. An irresistible, undeniable, pounding, trembling, panting urge.

I slowly inch his hand up so that his thumb presses against the soft flesh of my breast.

Then I nudge it up just another fraction.

Raffe’s breathing is still steady. He’s still asleep.

A little more. Just a fraction . . .

Until I can feel the warmth of his hand spreading over my chest.

And then everything changes.

His breathing becomes ragged. His hand pushes up and begins kneading my flesh. Demanding. On the verge of hurting, but not quite. Not quite. An incredible sensation runs through me, starting from my breast and flooding out from there.

I’m panting before I know it.

He moans and kisses the nape of my neck. He works his way up to my mouth. His lips land on mine, hot and wet and sucking. His tongue sweeps in, teasing mine.

My whole world is a mass of sensations – the soft sucking of his lips, the warm slipperiness of his tongue, the hard pressure of his body against mine.