I give as good as I get it, and between fevered pants inflamed kisses over his lips and neck, my fingernails take his hair, clenching his shirt when he slides his warm hands under my shirt.
My eyelids flutter shut as I tighten my legs around his waist. Somehow, in the course of the last few minutes, my thighs have straddled, my knees pushing against the hard back hits the sofa. "Charlotte," I hear him whisper against my neck, "has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"
"No," I say, my laugh sounding more raspy than normal. "Can't say that they have."