For one suspended heartbeat, he looks at me like a man at war with himself.
Then he makes a decision.
His palm cups the side of my neck, thumb under my ear, and he kisses me.
It’s controlled for exactly one second, and then it turns into something fierce, something hungry, something that makes my knees go loose as if my body recognizes his mouth better than it recognizes fear.
I make a sound I don’t mean to make. A small, wrecked whimper.
Diesel groans into my mouth like he’s been starving.
His hand slides into my hair, anchoring me, keeping me close without trapping me. My hands fist in his shirt because I need to hold on to something, need to prove I’m real and this is real and he’s real.
His mouth moves with mine, slow then deeper, and I can taste mint and something purely him. Heat blooms low in my belly, spreading out like a slow fire. My body responds like it’s been waiting for permission.
He breaks the kiss abruptly, forehead resting against mine, breathing hard.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice shaking with restraint. “Grace. Tell me, and I will.”
My lips are swollen. My mind is a mess.
I should stop this. I should think about consequences.
But the only thing I can think is how safe his hands feel even when they’re burning.
I shake my head.
His eyes flare.
“Say it,” he demands, not cruel, desperate. “I need to hear you choose it.”
My voice comes out small. “Don’t stop.”
Something in him breaks loose.
He kisses me again, harder, and walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed. I sit without meaningto, the mattress dipping, the fire popping in the hearth like it’s cheering us on.
Diesel follows me down, bracing his hands on either side of my thighs, holding himself off me like he’s afraid of crushing me.
His gaze drops to my body, and shame tries to claw up my throat.
I fold my arms instinctively, covering myself, the old reflex of making myself smaller.
He stills.
“Don’t,” he says, and his voice is so raw it stops me. “Don’t hide.”
My cheeks burn. “You don’t want…” I can’t even finish it. I can’t say the words. You don’t want a girl like me.
His eyes lift to mine, steady, unblinking.
“I’ve wanted you since I saw you on the side of that road,” he says, like it costs him to admit it. “And I hated it. Because I knew it would make me reckless.”
My lungs forget how to work.
I stare at him. “Me?”
His mouth twists, like he doesn’t have patience for lies. “You.”
