“Careful,” she warned softly. “Bedroom’s down the hall.” She got her arms around his neck, winding one hand into his hair. “You in a hurry?” Her accent — southern — thickened, turning her words into a slow drawl.
“Not at all,” he sighed, kissing her deeply and slowly moving down her neck. He bit hard often, then sucked on her neck to relax the area of the bite.
When his mouth finally met hers, she tried to prolong the kiss, but he apparently wasn’t having any of it. By the fourth time he bit her neck, she fisted her hand in his hair and tugged. Her eyes snapped. “You don’t get to mark me. You have to earn that.”