Part of me spirals, my mind going to dark places. What if this changes how he sees me? What if he pulls away? Who could blame him? Who wouldwantto deal with someone like me, who carries all this baggage, all this trauma, all these ugly, broken, jagged pieces?
I lift myself just enough to see his face.
“I want to, though,” I say, aware of the desperation in my voice, the way I’m showing him the darkest parts of myself. “I need you to erase it, Carrson. Please, I need you to replace those memories with something different, something better.” I sniffle. Softer, barely audible, I add, “Please don’t stop. Don’t give up. Don’t…go.”
I hate to beg, but for this I will.
Another tear slips down my cheek and Carrson catches it on his fingertip.
A sob breaks free, and it’s all too much. I bury my face in his chest, inhaling his warm scent, pine and woodsmoke. His arms tighten around me. He nuzzles his chin against the top of my head and says a soft, “Shh, shh. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere.” A kiss pressed against my hair, and he whispers, “I promise.”
That’s the moment I fall a little in love with Carrson Ashford.
Not when he’s teasing me, taunting me. Not when he’s training me, making me stronger. Not when he’s strutting around, being all alpha male. I like those parts of him, but they aren’t what unlocks the carefully guarded chambers of my heart.
It’s this.
When he holds me together, gathers the scattered pieces of me like each one is precious, and hands them back to me. When he glues them into place with gentle strokes of his hand down my arm, with the warmth of his chest beneath my cheek, a solid place I can land, every time I fall.
“It’s okay,” he repeats. “I’m not giving up. We just need to slow down a bit, go back a couple of steps.”
He shifts me again, gently, until my head rests on the pillow beside his. So I can look him in the eyes.
“Did you know,” he says softly, “I’ve never had sex with someone I knew before?” A long pause. “Someone I care about.”
“No,” I whisper, frowning as I process that. I think about all the stories of the prostitutes, the girls from town, that the sisters gossiped about.
“It’s new for me too,” he continues, his voice low and steady. “It’s different.” He tucks a wayward piece of hair behind my ear. “You’re different.”
He kisses me. Not a lava-scorching kiss this time. Not wild and consuming. No, this is something else. It’s tender. Steady. Still hot, but in a softer way. It’s the warmth of a fireplace after coming in from the snow. The feeling of a favorite sweater against bare skin. Hands wrapped around a mug of steaming cocoa.
The kind of heat that doesn’t burn.
It stays, soaks in,lingers.
I thread my fingers into his hair and pull him close, lifting my head to kiss him harder.
He responds immediately, his mouth claiming mine while his hand trails down until it finds my breast. His fingers circle my nipple, lightly at first, then firmer as it stiffens under his touch.
I let out a soft moan.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, his mouth following the path of his hand. “You like that? When I touch you…”
His lips close over my breast, hot, wet, warm. He licks slowly, sucks my nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his velvet tongue.
I arch into him, my breath catching at the sensation, at the way he’s touching my breast, so soft, so focused, and how that touch sends a jolt through the rest of me, sharp and sweet. It lands low, right between my legs.
A shaky, involuntary “Oh” slips from my lips.
Carrson glances up, his brow lifting. “What?”
“How’re you doing that?” I ask breathlessly. “Touching me in one place but making it feel like it’severywhere?”
He chuckles, low, warm. A tiny smile ghosts his lips like he’s pleased with himself.
He slides up my body, his lips brushing my ear, as he whispers a single word:“Magic.”
Just like that, he’s back. His mouth closes over one nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles, while his other hand moves to the opposite breast,kneading gently. Every flick of his tongue makes me gasp, my breath stuttering, my hips shifting restlessly.
