As if she has some sort of gravitational pull, I find it impossible to stop myself from kissing her. My palm touches her cheek to draw her close, and Summer comes willingly, moving toward me until we’re chest to chest.

I slide my hand into her hair as her hot mouth meets mine enthusiastically. Her kisses are sweet, and hurried, and I drink them down.

Waves of lust pulse through me. The taste of sugar and female is a potent combination. And Summer isn’t just any woman. She’s kindhearted and funny, and she’s put up with my family all week without complaint. I can’t help my body’s response to hers.

When her lips part, I deepen our kiss, my tongue meeting hers in eager strokes. Her hands curl into fists as she grips my shirt, hauling me closer.

I walk us back—three steps—until her back meets the wall of the chicken coop. I’m sure she can feel the situation below my belt, but Summer’s only response is more kissing. It’s a scenario I’m very much okay with.

Moonlight paints us in a hazy glow. While being pressed up against the side of a chicken coop is probably the least sexy thing ever, neither of us seem to care.

She makes a needy sound in the back of her throat, somewhere between a whine and pure want. It sparks something inside me, and I bring one hand under the edge of her sweatshirt, my knuckles tracing the soft skin of her stomach.

Breaking our connection, I press my forehead to hers. “You’re dangerous.”

“So are you.”

I know what she means, this burning attraction that neither of us seem capable of resisting.

Being near her—there’s something about it. Something risky. It’s like my libido has magically rebooted. Not just rebooted, but roared to life with a hunger more potent than I’ve ever experienced before.

I press my mouth to hers again as my hand travels north. Palming the weight of her breast earns me another of those moans that I’m quickly growing fond of.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Her voice is sure. Steady.

Her skin is so soft and warm, and I’m lost to her kisses. When my fingers skim down to the waistband of her leggings, she makes a breathless sound.

“Can I touch you?” I murmur with my mouth still on hers.

“Yes.” Her voice is a whisper, but there’s no uncertainty in her tone.

With my pulse thundering, I press my hand lower, beneath the elastic of her leggings and panties. I bite back a groan when I feel how warm and wet she is.

It triggers something inside me.

As she grips my shirt to haul me closer, my fingers slide over silken flesh until Summer is trembling and gasping in my arms. I love touching her like this, making her feel good.