She stares at me, dazed.
“Why?”she breathes.“Why’d you stop?”
I grip her hips hard enough to bruise.My voice is ruined.
“Because I want this too much,” I rasp.“Because if I don’t stop now, I won’t stop at all.And Legend.”
She lifts a hand to my cheek.Tracing.Softening me in ways she shouldn’t know how to.“Don’t say that name.Don’t stop,” she whispers.
For one second, one brutal heartbeat, I almost obey.
Then self-loathing punches through the heat.
“I’m the man holding the leash,” I say, stepping back like she burned me.“And you… you make me want to let go.”
Her breath catches.
A flinch she tries to hide.
I turn away.
To the window.
To the dark.
To anything that ain’t her.
When I finally look back, she’s curled on the bed, trembling with everything I refused to take.
I whisper her name once.She doesn’t answer.The shadows outside shift.And I know this ain’t the end of it.
I wake before dawn.
Not from sleep.From punishment.The memory of her on my lap.Her kiss.Her breath.Her hands on my cock.The taste of her.I sit up fast, chest heaving, jaw clenched until something cracks behind my teeth.
She’s still asleep.Spread on the other bed, fanned out like she belongs in the aftermath of sin.Her shirt twisted.Her lips swollen from my mouth.
A mistake.A weakness.A crack in the armor I can’t afford.I stand.Dress.Holster my gun.Slip the knife into my boot.All without looking at her.
Emotion is a luxury.Desire is a liability.And Becki Crowley is both.I’m almost out the door when she stirs.
“Royal?”Her voice is rough.“You’re leaving?”
“Getting coffee.”
Cold.
Sharp.
Lie.
She sits up, blanket falling to her waist.“You’re avoiding me.”
“Not avoiding.”I grab my jacket.
“Correcting.”
Her brows lift, fury sparking.“Correcting what?”
