It’s not a mistake.
It’s fire.
Her hands grab my shirt, pulling me closer like she’s done pretending she doesn’t need this—need me. I slide my arm around her waist and haul her against my chest, the blanket tangling around us, her warmth fitting against me like she was made for it.
I kiss her harder, deeper, my control fraying at the edges. Her mouth is sweet and hungry and she tastes like coffee and courage.
She shifts, climbing into my lap without even thinking about it, knees on either side of my thighs. The movement is innocent—until it isn’t.
Until she settles.
Until I feel her.
My breath leaves me in a rough exhale, and my hands tighten on her hips like I’m holding myself back from taking too much.
“Jack,” she whispers against my mouth.
I kiss the corner of her lips, then her jaw, then the soft spot under her ear. Her head tips back, and the sound she makes is wrecking.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, voice shaking.
She grips my shoulders. “Don’t.”
That single word lights me up.
I trail my mouth down her throat just enough to make her tremble, then force myself to pull back and look at her—really look at her—eyes dark, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.
She looks like she wants me. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Me either. I’ve never let my feelings get in the way of an assignment.”
She shakes her head slightly. “No, I mean I’ve never donethisbefore.”
I stall, blinking. “You’re a virgin?”
She bites her lower lip, nodding. “I… I mean, I’ve made out with guys before, but… never…” her words fall away as a simple ‘fuck’ leaves my lips.
“I’m older,” I rasp, like saying it out loud will be a barrier.
Stella’s eyes hold mine. “So?”
“So I should know better,” I say, hands still braced on her hips like if I let go, I’ll drag her under.
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make my head tilt. “Do you?”
My chest heaves. “No.”
Her smile is small and wicked and so Stella it hurts. “Good.”
I kiss her again—slower this time, savoring, letting the heat build instead of explode. She melts into me, rocking forward just slightly, and my whole body screams to take more.
I force my hands to stay respectful—on her waist, her back, one palm sliding up to cradle her neck. Every touch is deliberate. Controlled. I want this to be good for her. I want her to trust me.
Her nails scrape lightly down my neck and I groan into her mouth, the sound low and involuntary.
She pulls back a breath, forehead pressing to mine. “You’re shaking.”
“So are you,” I murmur.
