Heat rushes through me, lightning under skin. I grab his shirt, dragging him closer, desperate and furious at myself for wanting it.
He groans into my mouth like he’s been starving.
Then he breaks the kiss abruptly, forehead resting against mine, breathing hard.
“Grace,” he says, like my name is a warning. “Tell me to stop.”
I should.
I don’t.
I shake my head, and his control snaps.
Chapter 6
Grace
Itellmyselftotake a step back.
I don’t.
My wet hair drips down my neck. My borrowed T-shirt hangs loose over my curves, the flannel pants warm but not enough to stop the shiver running through me. I’m cold, yes, but that’s not all of it.
I’m too aware of him. Of the heat rolling off his body. Of the way his gaze tracks me without ever turning crude, like he’s fighting something inside him and losing ground by inches.
“Grace,” he says, rough, like my name hurts.
I should say something smart. Something safe.
Instead, I swallow and hear my own heartbeat louder than the rain.
My body betrays me. My breath catches. My skin tightens. My nipples pebble under the thin cotton, and shame flashes hotthrough my chest because I can feel it happening and I can’t stop it.
Men like him don’t want girls like me.
Not really.
Not the soft kind. Not the curvy kind. Not the kind my father called piggy like it was my name.
Diesel’s gaze drops, just once, and comes back to my eyes as if he felt the same thought and hated it.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says quietly.
The words go straight through me. Not because I believe them easily, but because I want to. Because some starving part of me has been waiting years to hear a man say that and mean it.
My throat tightens. I force a laugh that sounds broken. “You could,” I whisper. “You could, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
His jaw flexes. “I know.” His voice turns harder, not at me, at the truth. “I’d never hurt you. I’ll protect you. Even from myself. I won’t touch you if you don’t want this. I won’t even kiss you again, unless you ask me.”
He reaches out slowly, hand hovering near my face. He doesn’t touch until I nod.
I hate that my eyes sting. I hate that tenderness makes me feel weak.
“I want this. I want you to kiss me,” I whisper.
His knuckles brush my cheek, barely there, like the gentlest question.
The contact snaps something in me. My chin lifts into his hand before I can think, and his breath catches like I punched it out of him.
