His hand—coated in her own musky arousal—slid south once more. Slow. Punishingly precise.
Teasing the damp heat between her thighs, his calloused touch parted the soft lips of her untouched front. She jolted, a helpless, bucking jerk of her hips as the direct contact sparked raw electricity. Her breath hitched, soft chest shuddering as his fingertips grazed dangerously close to her core.
"Don't worry," he murmured, the dark rumble like molten steel poured directly into her ear. The heat of his breath cut straight through the mist.
Then—he pressed.
A single digit, agonizingly deliberate, nudged into the glistening slit, pushing shallowly against a barrier no one had ever claimed. A delicate, sharp sting lit through her tender nerves. She winced, her hips locking up in panic.
His fingertip had found it.
Her hymen.
"I'll wither this..." The words were a dark, possessive purr, thick with promise, "...on our wedding night."
Her entire frame froze.
