The taste of whisky and salt still coats my tongue, a raw reminder of what just happened. My chest heaves against Dev’s, my skin slick with a fresh sheen of sweat that makes the leather couch beneath us squeak with every slight shift. I’m straddling his lap, completely bare, my thighs trembling where they rest against his. Dev’s hands are moving again, those thick, demanding fingers tracing the curve of my spine, digging into the soft flesh of my hips. He isn’t rushing. He’s owning the moment.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his stubble scraping against my sensitive skin, sending a fresh wave of shivers down my body. His breath is hot, ragged, and smells faintly of the alcohol he just poured over himself.