Jase
Ihated silence. Since I was a kid, I hated the lack of sound in a room. Growing up, my house was always humming with chatter from my mama, my sisters arguing about literally anything, or my pops barking out orders.
The ranch itself was always bustling with people working, livestock grazing along the fields, horses out in the stables and the chirping of crickets and birds throughout the grounds of our property. Though right now, the silence feels deafening. Suffocating almost, and I needed to break free of it.
The reason I hated it so much is that it would allow for overthinking, and tonight, my mind was wrecked after the day we had.
As I stepped into the living room and found Monroe sitting on the floor in front of the fire, my pulse spiked with thoughts of what could happen if I went over to her. There was a blanket around her shoulders, but even from a distance I could see she was lost in her thoughts as she stared at the wild flames casting shadows around her. With the lights off, the fire and reflectionof the full moon flowing through the floor to ceiling windows illuminated her in a mesmerizing glow that drew me forward.
I couldn't sleep, equally lost in thought. I couldn’t stop the memories of tonight from playing in my mind. How touching her felt so natural, like it was my birthright. The way she glanced my way when she thought no one was watching. How she sought me out in the room, if she ever felt nervous or unsure. And our kiss, especially our kiss.
The way Monroe’s cheeks flushed pink when she realized what she’d done. That she’d started the kiss and given in to the feeling of euphoria, allowing herself to melt against me.
I should’ve let her go to bed. I should’ve kept the line exactly where it was.
Instead, I’m sitting here with her head on my shoulder, watching her in the gleam of the fire and flames outlining the curves I know too well under that soft sweater. Who knew a fireplace could work such wonders?
“You want some tea?” I ask mostly to keep from kissing her again the way my lips crave.
She looks up at me through her long lashes, her face completely free of the makeup she wore earlier. Her tired blue eyes watch me with a curiosity I've never seen in them as she smiles. “You don’t even drink tea.”
“I’d make it for you,” I reply, having not much else to say. This isn't like me. I’m typically a man of many words, specifically when it comes to charming women, but Mornoe Bishop disarms me and makes me second guess everything I want to say.
Her brows lift in amusement. “Since when have you been so sweet?”
I can’t hold my grin. She’s being playful with me, and this is definitely new. “Since you’ve been looking at me like that all night.”
Her expression shifts, just barely, and she tries to move away, but I catch her wrist gently, letting her decide if she wants to pull away. She doesn’t, and I want to scream triumphantly, but that might scare her away. Her resolve is slowly withering away, and that’s my goal. To make her feel completely comfortable with the idea of us. To trust me to be the partner she needs—not only to raise a child with, but to be hers.
“You’ve been holding your breath all day,” I murmur, low into the crook of her neck. She smells incredible, sweet and delicate but also an enticing scent that only she wears. I can't quite pinpoint it, but I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. I want to trace her skin with my tongue, kiss every inch of her if she’d only let me. “Let me take your mind off it.”
Her eyes widen at my bluntness, but instead of shaking me off and telling me to quit messing around, a sexy as fuck grin takes over her pretty face.
“Jase…” She says my name like a warning, but it comes out softer than she meant. She’s so fucking gorgeous, and I have to pinch myself every day that I get to do this with her.How fucking lucky am I that the random girl I kissed at a bar turned out not to be random at all?
I close the last inch of distance between us, my hand finding the curve of her hip, my thumb pressing just under the hem of her sweater. Her body leans toward mine, like she’s tired of pretending to keep her distance.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers against my mouth as her breathing slows.
“Mhmm,” I agree, my lips brushing hers. I lick my lips, grazing her with my tongue, and she parts them just an inch to feel me between them. “According to you, so was the first time.”
Her fingers curl around my neck, long nails digging into my skin. “And look where that got us.”
I slide my hand up her back, feeling the shiver that rushes through her. She’s intoxicating, and once again I'm utterly obsessed with her. “Maybe somewhere we are supposed to be.”
Monroe’s head tips back just enough for our eyes to meet, and that’s all the invitation I need. I crush my lips to hers, our kiss slow at first, unhurried, but the second she exhales against my mouth, I deepen it, cradling her jaw in my hands, as her body presses into mine. I lift her so she’s straddling me, and moan when her tongue pushes into my mouth. She tastes of the cinnamon rolls she had earlier, and suddenly it’s all I crave.
I pull back just enough to speak. My voice is deep and husky as I try my best to hold back a groan, as my cock painfully throbs in my sweats wanting to feel more of her. “Tell me to stop, Monroe.”
She doesn’t, and I thank God for it. Instead, she kisses me again, harder this time, and I know the line between fake and real has just completely shattered. There’s nothing fake about the way she feels in my arms. Kissing her feels like this is what I was always meant to do.
Monroe Bishop’s kiss tastes like every bad decision she promised herself she wouldn’t make again. Every single one I knew she would. I let her pull back just enough to breathe, but I don’t let go of her hand as I stand and lead her toward my bedroom. She follows without hesitation, her sweater brushing against my knuckles as our fingers lace together.
The creak of the floorboards is the only sound between us until we reach my bedroom. I shut the door behind us, not because we need privacy but because there is no way I’m letting her escape.
A glowing goddess stands at the edge of my bed, looking like the woman I've spent so many nights dreaming of making mine again. “You sure?” I ask when I sense her unease.
She doesn’t look up at me. Her gaze is focused on our interlocked hands. Dark hair cascades over her shoulders, a deep contrast against the cream-colored sweater. After a moment, she closes the distance between us, running her hand over my chest. Long and frail fingers curl around my neck, pulling me down into another heart-stopping kiss. This one is different—frantic, like she’s not holding anything back.
