"You got candles?"
"Yeah. In the back."
I grab my phone and lead him down the hallway, the light from the flashlight casting long shadows. The tall pillar candles are on a shelf near the storage room door. I hand him a few, and he carries them back to the main room, setting them on tables and lighting them with a lighter from his pocket.
The bookstore transforms. Flickering candlelight softens everything, turning the space intimate and hushed. I sink into one of the chairs near the window, watching rain stream down the glass. He sits across the table from me, close enough that I smell aftershave and smoke and clean rain on his skin.
His knee brushes mine under the table, and the contact sends electricity racing up my thigh. I watch his palms rest flat againstthe wood, imagining them on my waist, my hips, sliding up my ribs. The candlelight catches in his eyes, turning them dark and warm. My stomach flips.
"You okay?" he asks.
Maybe it's the storm. Maybe it's him. Maybe it's both.
"Yeah. It's just the storm."
His gaze holds mine, and I watch something shift in his expression. Recognition. Understanding. For a second, his face goes distant, haunted, as if he's somewhere else entirely. Then, he refocuses on me with an intensity that steals my breath.
"You're safe. I'm right here."
A thunderclap rattles the windows. I jolt, air catching in my throat, and he moves.
He's out of his chair and crouching in front of me before I can process it, one hand resting on the arm of my chair and the other on the table in front of me. Caging me in without touching me. The scent of rain in his hair surrounds me, and his chest rises and falls with controlled breaths.
"You're safe," he says, low and steady. "I'm right here. Nothing's going to hurt you."
I nod, but my hands are shaking. He sees the fear, of course he does, and reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away. When I don't, his hand closes over mine. Warm. Solid. Grounding.
"Breathe," he says.
I do. In through my nose, out through my mouth. His thumb brushes across my knuckles in a small, deliberate movement that sends heat racing up my arm and into my chest.
"Better?"
"Yeah." My voice comes out breathless. I don't know if it's from the storm or from him. Or from his gaze that strips me bare.
He doesn't move. He stays crouched in front of me, his hand still covering mine. The candlelight flickers across his face. Hiseyes are dark, intense, and the muscle in his jaw ticks like he's fighting something.
"Brooks," I say. I don't know what I'm asking for.
He knows anyway.
He leans in slowly, giving me time to stop him. To pull back. To tell him this is a bad idea. But I don't. I tilt my head up, and when his lips brush against mine, the storm outside fades to nothing.
The kiss is gentle at first. A question more than a demand. But I remember the way he first kissed me, the way his touch felt on my skin, and I need more. I grip his shoulders and pull him closer. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat that makes my pussy tighten with need.
He deepens the kiss, and it's not gentle anymore. His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head to the angle he wants, and I open for him. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting, claiming, and I meet him with equal desperation. He tastes like rain and caramel and something darker, something that makes my spine tingle and my knees go weak.
He stands, pulling me up with him, and we take a step back until my back hits the wall. Every inch of his solid warmth presses against me, and I feel the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms, the way his hips pin me in place. The hard ridge of his cock presses into me. Deliberate. Possessive.
His knee slides between my thighs, spreading them, and a sound escapes my throat that I've never made before. His hand grips my hip, thumb hooking into my belt loop, holding me exactly where he wants me. His other hand cups the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, controlling the angle of the kiss.
His lips trail down my jaw to my neck. I whimper. My nails scrape against his scalp, and he groans against my throat. The sound vibrates through me, sending a spiral of heat into mypussy. His teeth graze my pulse point, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make me shiver.
"Brooks," I gasp, and his name sounds rougher, more desperate this time.
He lifts his head, his eyes locking on to mine. Hunger darkens his gaze. His jaw locks like he's fighting himself. "Tell me to stop."
"Why?"
