Page 33 of Ruger's Rage
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight.
This is where I should back away, maintain distance, protect myself.
Instead, I ask, "Why? You barely know me."
"I know enough." He shifts closer, not touching but near enough that I can feel his warmth. "I know you're loyal—took a pay cut to help Ellie. I know you're strong—left a situation most people stay trapped in. I know you're beautiful in a way that makes me forget I'm supposed to be thinking about club shit. Hell, you make me forget about a lot of shit, and sometimes I need that distraction."
My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it. "That's attraction, not connection."
"Maybe. But I'd like the chance to find out which it is." He reaches out, slowly enough that I could pull away, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... possibility of something more."
His touch burns like ice against my skin—shocking, melting, leaving trails of sensation. I should move away. I should keep the barriers intact.
But God help me, I lean into his palm as it cups my cheek.
"I'm not looking for a relationship," I whisper.
"I'm not asking for one. Just asking you not to run before you know what you're running from."
He's not demanding commitment or possession, just opportunity.
"What happens if I say yes? To possibility?"
His thumb traces my bottom lip, the touch featherlight but electric. "Then we see where it leads. No rush. No pressure."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I respect that. Keep my distance unless you change your mind."
Simple as that. A choice.
The things Marco never let me have.
Maybe it's gratitude for that respect, or maybe it's the way the sun catches in his dark eyes, but I find myself leaning forward, closing the distance between us.
The first brush of his lips against mine is tentative, almost questioning.
When I don't pull away, he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding to the nape of my neck.
He tastes like coffee and something darker, richer.
His beard tickles my skin, a sharp contrast to the softness of his mouth.
Unlike Marco's demanding kisses that took and claimed, Ruger's kiss is sweet.
His hands stay gentle, giving me space to retreat if I want to.
Instead, I lean closer, my fingers clutching the leather of his cut.
Heat floods through me, a surge of want that's both thrilling and terrifying.
It's been so long since I've felt desire without fear shadowing it.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing heavily.
His eyes have darkened, pupils blown wide with desire.
I can feel his restraint in the tension of his body, the careful way he eases back to give me space.
