Sweep me off my feet!

Thomas swept Liona off her feet like a damn hurricane, fast, loud, and straight for the chest. One minute they were circling each other like cats, next she was pressed against the wall with his mouth on hers. The whole thing felt like a summer storm had blown in—quick to start, louder than polite, wetter than expected. He tasted every inch of her he could reach, tongue sloppy, hands everywhere, heat rising fast. Yet Thomas had an endgame tucked behind all that charm: those pale, silky soles he’d seen peeking from her sandals. He wanted to pin her ankle, drag his tongue from heel to toe, suck each long digit until she squealed. The plan tasted sweeter than whatever sweet lie he fed her before the first kiss. Kiss still tangled, his fingers already slid lower, feeling for the heel he was dying to claim.