Her hands slid up my chest, around my neck, and into my hair. She opened her mouth under mine, and I was lost. Everything narrowed to the sensation of her—soft curves pressing against hard muscle, fingers pulling my hair, and the little gasps she made when I changed the angle of the kiss.
I walked her backward until she was pressed against the wall of the Stonehouse, never breaking contact. My hands moved from her face to her waist, pulling her tighter against me. She arched into me, her leg hooking around my calf, and I groaned.
She kissed me again, harder this time, and I stopped thinking. Stopped trying to be patient. Stopped pretending this wasn’t exactly what I’d wanted since I was old enough to know what wanting meant.
When I gripped her hips and she moaned, the sound snapped something inside me. I lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her mouth again.
“We should—” She gasped. “We should stop.”
“Why?”
“Because—” She broke off when I found the spot just below her ear that made her shiver. “Because I can’t think when you do that.”
“Good.”
“Snapper.” This time, it came out as a plea.
I leaned away enough to look at her. Her pupils were blown wide, her lips swollen, her chest heaving. She looked absolutely wrecked, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Tell me to stop,” I said. “If you want me to stop, just say it.”
Rather than respond, she unwrapped her legs from around my waist and slid her feet to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “I just—I can’t?—”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I want to. But?—”
“But you’re not ready.” I ran a hand through my hair, my every nerve ending on fire, every muscle coiled tight with want. But without words, she’d asked me to stop, so I stopped. “It’s okay, Saff.”
“It’s not okay. I just—” She eased around me, returned to the table, and sat down.
“Hey.” I sat beside her. “You get to decide what you’re ready for. Always. I’m not going to push you.”
“Even though I’m driving you crazy?”
“Especially because you’re driving me crazy.” I tried to smile. “It means you feel something too.”
She looked up at me then, and the vulnerability in her expression nearly broke me. “I do feel something. That’s what scares me.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because I don’t think you understand how terrifying this is for me. Wanting someone as much as I do you. Needing you this much. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with my eyes closed.”
I wanted to tell her I’d catch her if she fell—that I already knew about the foreclosure and would do anything to help her. But I couldn’t. Not without admitting I’d been keeping secrets too. Not without forcing her hand when she needed to come to me on her own.
“We should go,” she said, the moment fracturing. “It’s getting late.”
I wanted to argue, demand she stay so we could talk this through, but I didn’t.
I heard Bit again in my head.Don’t push. Let her set the pace.
So I just said, “Okay.”
The drive back to her house was thick with tension. Both of us were wound too tight, both of us wanted things we couldn’t have. At least not yet.
I parked in her driveway and walked her to the door, with my hands shoved in my pockets.
