That was all Malcolm needed.
His lips crashed against mine again, fiercer this time, and I moaned into his mouth. His hands were everywhere — on my waist, my chest, my thighs — and I couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He pulled back just long enough to strip me bare, his fingers trembling slightly as he tugged off my clothes. First, the hoodie, yanked over my head with a urgency that left my hair disheveled. Then the inner shirt, buttons undone one by one, his fingertips grazing my chest, sending shivers down my spine.
When his hands moved to my trousers, I froze, my breath hitching. He paused, his eyes locking onto mine, and I felt exposed, even before he'd pulled them down. Is he judging me? I thought, my cheeks burning. But then he smiled — soft, reassuring — and leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "You're beautiful," he whispered, and my heart skipped a beat.
