Chapter 59 The Devil's Hands

• [CAMI]
• Zeke’s lips are softer than usual, brushing mine in small, lazy kisses. He teases with his tongue—the faint taste of whiskey still lingering on him, which makes me want to chase him, makes my chest ache with how badly I want his mouth to be rougher.
• Then his hand claws up the back of my neck, tangling in my damp hair. The grip is firm, possessive, and it rips a moan straight out of me, swallowed against his lips. His other hand doesn’t stay idle. It slides down the front of my throat, between the parted lapels of my robe, until his warm fingers brush the moist swell of my breast.