Then there are the people in our lives who might be hurt. People we care about. He’s made it clear, he will do anything to protect Casey, and my relationship with Phoebe is hanging on by tattered threads and a prayer. I could lose my sister forever if I were with Jagger, and if things fell apart between us, I would’ve destroyed any chance at reconciling with her.
My thumb brushes across his bottom lip. His fingers dig into my hips, a possessive move that he doesn’t push further. He won’t force me to stay. Without words, I know he’s put himself out there, admitted to giving me more in a few days than he’s ever given any woman, but he doesn’t want someone out of gratitude or guilt. Will never beg anyone to see him, to love him.
“Then keep me,” I whisper, lifting my gaze.
Our eyes collide. The air becomes heavy with unspoken emotions. Our breathing comes in uneven spurts. His heart pounds a rhythm against my hand, matching my own.
His lips crash into mine, fierce yet soft, as if he’s afraid I’ll take it back. I won’t.
Too much. Too fast. Too soon.
Casey. Phoebe.
Baggage. Trauma.
Complicated.
They all fade away until all that’s left is us.
I’m lifted, carried in strong arms from the bath. His steps don’t falter as he takes long, determined strides from the en suite to the bedroom. My legs stay wrapped around his hips as he lowers us to the bed. His lips burn a path across my jaw to my neck.
My head tips back, offering more access to the sensitive flesh. “We’re getting the bed wet,” I murmur.
The short scruff of his jaw scrapes deliciously against my collarbone as he nips his way to the top of my breast. “I’ll change the sheets.”
“The mattress.” I’m not sure how I’m so conscientious right now when I couldn’t care less about what’s getting wet but me.
He grips my wrists, pushing them over my head. “I’ve got other beds. Now, unless it’s more of that about letting me keep you or begging me to let you come, stop talking.”
“Let me touch you.”
His head lifts, eyes boring into mine with hesitation. Fingers twitch around my wrist nervously.
I wait without pushing, wondering what decision he’ll come to, watching so many things play out in his eyes. He reaches over me, taking one hand in each of his, threading our fingers together while he leans down, resting his forehead on mine.
And still I wait, sensing the war going on inside him. The internal battle of heart and head as he works to join the two.
His nose brushes mine, soft and slow. A warm exhale fans my face.
He rises, leaning back on his heels, bringing our joined hands and me with him until our positions mirror each other. Eyes closed, he presses a kiss to the knuckles of each hand, then unwinds our fingers, pressing my palm against his chest.
I’ve touched him so many times. Danced my fingers across his chest. Stroked the divots of his abs. But never when sex is involved. Not once when his tongue licked me so well. Or when he was buried deep inside me. Even when he took my mouth with such ruthless aggression that I thought I might break, my hands stayed firmly away from him.
This feels like the first time as I run them over his scalded flesh, feeling his heart beat like a thunderstorm against my palm. He hisses when I brush my thumb over his nipple. His flesh pebbles as I trace my fingers over the black lines covering his chest.
I lean forward, trailing my palm over his neck to his jaw, bringing my mouth to his. I lick the seam, then ask, “You said you don’t trust women, but do you trust me?” His nostrils flare, that internal battle still raging.
But he’s trying. Because I am. And I feel that. Confessing I wanted him to keep me? Allowing us to see what this is, damn the consequences is a big deal for me. It’s not the same as what he’s going through, but we’re both putting ourselves out there right now?
I reach beside him, where a condom appears out of nowhere. He watches my every move, his fingers buried into my thighs.
A sharp breath splits the silence when I grip his hard length. My eyes jump to his face, wanting to make sure he’s okay.
The last thing I want to do is upset him, trigger him. I don’t want to hurt him, but if I’m entirely honest, I’m a little scared of his reaction if I do.
His eyes, dark and wide, meet mine. The muscles in his jaw pulse like a heartbeat, and I second-guess everything.
Suddenly, I’m the one who can’t breathe because I can see it all written where his brows dip and his forehead creases. In the hurricane circling his eyes.
