Marcus's voice was a low rumble against her spine as his hands slid around her waist.
His palms were broad and startlingly hot against the cooling sweat on her skin. One hand splayed possessively across her lower belly, fingers dipping into the hollow of her hip bone, while the other traced the curve of her spine down to the swell of her ass.
She felt the deliberate shift of his hips behind her, the thick ridge of his arousal pressing against her through the fabric of his trousers, a heavy, insistent promise against the still-trembling cleft of her cheeks.
The contrast was jarring—the lingering emptiness inside her from the egg's removal, the phantom echo of cold, and now this solid, radiating heat demanding entry.
His fingers slid between her thighs, finding her slick and swollen, the flesh there hypersensitive, almost raw. He didn't tease; he pressed two thick fingers deep inside her, curling them upward to stroke the tender, overstimulated roof of her passage.
