Before I can stop myself, before I can think about all the reasons this is a terrible idea, I kiss her.
She makes a soft sound of surprise… and then her hands are fisting in my shirt, and she's kissing me back with a desperation that matches my own. Her mouth is soft and warm, and she tastes like salt from her tears and the sweetness that I'm already addicted to.
My hand slides into her hair, tilting her head so I can deepen the kiss. She gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound, my other hand moving to her waist, pulling her closer.
This.This is what I've been fighting since the moment I saw her picture in that file. This overwhelming need to possess her, to claim her, to make her mine in every way possible.
We move—I'm not sure who initiates it—and then we're shifting on the couch, and if I don't stop this right now, I won't be able to stop at all. She tastes so good, and she’s so soft, so perfect in every way. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted any woman, more than I thought it was possible to want, and it feels like I’ll die if I don’t bury myself inside of her now, tonight.
But I’ve been fighting it this long. And this isn’t a battle I should allow myself to lose.
I pull back, breathing hard. "Maeve. Wait."
Her eyes flutter open, dazed and dark with want. "What's wrong?"
Everything. Nothing. I don't know anymore.
"We can't do this." I force the words out, even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to shut up and kiss her again.
"Why not?" She's still so close, her lips swollen from my kiss, her hair mussed from my hands. There’s that pleading in her eyes. “Sean?—”
"Because..." I struggle to find words that make sense. "Because once we start this, I won't be able to stop. And you deserve better than being fucked on a couch by a man who doesn't know how to give you anything else."
She flinches at my crude words, and I hate myself for putting that look on her face. But it's the truth. I don't know how to do this—how to be tender, how to be gentle, how to be anything other than what I am.
"What if I don't care about that?" she asks quietly. “What if I want you? If that’s you…”
"You should care."
"Stop telling me what I should want, Sean." There's fire in her voice now, under the hurt. She pulls back, disentangling herself from me, and I can feel her shutting down. I should be glad, but instead, I feel like I’m cracking into pieces. "Stop deciding for me what I can handle."
My jaw tightens, and I feel a rush of frustration.Good. That I can handle better than this unrelenting need. "I'm trying to protect you."
"From what? From having something good? From being happy?" She pushes away from me, standing up. "Or are you just protecting yourself?"
The words hit too close to home, and I look away. "Maeve?—"
"No. You know what? I'm tired." She wraps her arms around herself. "I'm tired of fighting for something you're not willing to give. I'm tired of being pushed away. I'm just... tired."
She walks down the hall to the bedroom, and a moment later, I hear the door close. Not a slam—that would be easier. Justa quiet, definite click that somehow feels worse than if she'd screamed at me.
I sit there on the couch, my head in my hands, and try to figure out how I managed to fuck this up so completely.
—
I feelas though I’ve been sitting there for a long time when I hear Flynn let himself in. I look up to see him striding into the living room.
"Figured you might need this," he says, holding up a bottle of whiskey.
I grunt in response, and he settles into the chair across from me, pouring two glasses. "Want to talk about it?" he asks.
"No."
"Tough. We're talking about it anyway." He takes a sip. "What happened?"
Letting out a sigh, I tell him, since I know he won’t shut up about it until I do, anyway. I tell him about the Council meeting, about Maeve standing up for me, about her breaking down and telling me about her family. About the kiss and how I stopped it.
Flynn listens without interrupting, which is unusual for him. When I finish, he's quiet for a long moment.
