“Anna—”
“This doesn’t mean we’re together forever,” I whisper. “It just means I can’t handle even one more day not kissing you. It’s killing me.”
And then I kiss him.
The first press of my lips against his is soft. Tentative. I know that he’s a virgin and in fact I suspect this is his first kiss and I have to make it good for him.
Keric groans—low, rough, the sound vibrating against my mouth—and I feel it everywhere. My arms move around his neck and I deepen the kiss. His tusks scrape against the corners of my mouth. It should be strange and intimidating, but it’s the sexiest kiss of my life. He tastes amazing. And something about the sensation, the slight roughness and the reminder of exactly what he is, makes heat flood between my thighs. I could kiss Keric Irontree all day and night, even on Christmas.
His hands come up to frame my face, and I feel the careful control in his touch. How gently he holds me, like I’m something precious.
I imagine his body over mine. My fingers gripping those black horns while I whimper beneath him. The hot scene makes me dizzy. A growl rumbles up from his chest—deeper now, almost feral. His muscles are rigid with the effort of holding back.
I want to kiss down his jaw, his neck and move down toward unzipping his pants…but I manage to pull back, breathing hard.
His eyes are molten. “You’re going to kill me,” he rasps.
I laugh…shaky and breathless. “You’ll survive.”
“Will I?”
We stare at each other. Both breathing hard. The air between us charged with everything we haven’t done yet. Everything we want to do.
“We’re still sleeping in separate rooms, Anna.”
I blink. “Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that we?—”
“I know.” His voice is strained, rough like gravel. “But I need to say it. For me.” He drags a hand over his face, and I can see what it costs him to form these words.
My eyes dip down the enormous, tented erection in his pants and I swallow hard.
“I’m not ready. I can’t be trusted to sleep next to you and not lose my mind. Not try to go further than you’re ready for.”
I see the effort it takes him to draw this line.
“So, we wait,” I say softly.
“We wait.”
I lick my lips and shift, trying to help my hot and bothered body to calm down enough so I can speak normally. “Maybe we should both go to bed early?”
He gives a jerky nod.
“Good night,” I whisper as I stand. “Can I take the kitten with me tonight?”
“Yes.”
I pick up the kitten and go to my bedroom and close the door behind me.
Dinah quickly curls at the foot of the bed, a warm gray comma against the quilt. I slide under the covers and press my fingertips to my swollen and tingling lips. I can still feel him there. The scrape of his tusks, rumble of his growl and the heat of his hands on my face.
For the first time since this started, I’m not thinking about the danger. Not thinking about mercenaries or scent bombs or evidence that goes public in four days.
I’m thinking about what comes after.
About him.
And those horns.
