His breath hitches again, but he doesn’t pull away.
If anything, he tightens his grip on me.
And I feel safe.
Sosafe.
Cared for.
Cherished.
Especially when he kisses my head again.
“Thank you for being here with me,” I whisper.
“Glad to have fucked up in the right way,” he murmurs back.
I kiss his chest and burrow closer to him, my fingers cautiously exploring the hot, smooth skin on his back.
He buries his face in my hair, gripping me even tighter.
“Whatever happens here can stay here,” I tell his shirt.
“I don’t want you to regret anything.”
“My entire life is one regret after another. Even if I regret this, it’ll be small. Barely noticeable. A little blip.”
He goes completely still and silent for a moment.
For the love of guitar strings. “I’m not callingthisa blip,” I add, flexing my hips against his erection.
He coughs. Half laughs. Coughs again. “I didn’t think?—”
“Yes, you did.”
“Maybe a little.”
I giggle.
He kisses my forehead.
The way I want to push him onto his back, crawl on top of him, strip out of my clothes, and make love to him is overwhelming.
It’s scary—this will change everything, no matter how much I might try to insist that what happens here, stays here—but he’s here.
He likes me.
I like him.
Itrusthim.
Screw it.
I might never have this chance again.
11
Cash
