“I know,” I whisper, my voice unsteady.
His thumb traces my jaw again, slower this time, firmer, before he lifts my chin. The way he looks at me makes my stomach tighten—like he’s done holding back, like whatever he’s been containing has reached its limit. His breath stutters once, warm and uneven against my lips. His mouth hovers there, close enough that I can feel the tension in him, the fight he’s losing.
“Please,” I murmur, barely more than a breath.
That’s all it takes.
He kisses me like a man who’s been denying himself too long. Not rough—but decisive. Claiming. His lips close over mine with heat and purpose, firm and sure, like he needs to ground himself in the reality of me. The kiss steals my breath instantly, makes my knees soften, my pulse spike.
His mouth is warm, insistent, molding to mine as if he’s memorizing the shape of my lips. I make a small sound without meaning to, and that’s when his restraint cracks just enough. His lips part, coaxing, inviting—and I open for him.
The kiss deepens slowly, deliberately. His tongue slides against mine in a languid stroke that makes my toes curl, unhurried but overwhelming. It’s not frantic. It’s controlled hunger. Like he’s tasting me properly now that he’s finally allowed himself to.
My hand lifts on instinct, fingers threading into his hair, curling at the nape of his neck. It’s softer than I expected, warm beneath my palm, and the quiet sound he makes in response sends a shiver straight through me. I pull him closer without thinking, anchoring myself to him as he presses me gently back against the car door.
One of his hands braces beside my shoulder, the other cradles my jaw as he adjusts the angle, deepening the kiss just enough to make my head spin. Then his grip shifts—slow, deliberate—his palm settling at my lower back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.
The contact makes my breath hitch.
He presses in just enough for me to feel how affected he is, the solid heat of him unmistakable even through layers of clothing. It sends a sharp, electric awareness through me, pooling low in my belly as his lips continue to move against mine with controlled confidence.
Every kiss is chosen. Every touch intentional.
And the knowledge that he’s reacting just as strongly as I am only makes the moment burn hotter.
It feels like surrender—but not mine alone.
Chapter 10 - Wes
She’s so fucking sweet. Her mouth so perfect, every gentle caress of her tongue following my lead, the way she fits against me, small and delicate, but sure and soft at the same time. I’m losing my mind, desperate to push for more. She’s here, she’s safe. I made her safe. She’s not afraid. She’s mine. And I desperately want to be hers.
That thought makes me pull away.
I try to put space between us, even though she’s holding onto me and her knees keep knocking as she leans against the door. Her dilated eyes focus on mine in the near darkness broken only by her porch light. I try to catch my breath even though each swallow reminds me of her taste, better than the honey mead, more potent than straight whiskey. She licks her bottom lip as she watches me pant and I have to dig my nails into my palms to make myself step back again.
“I shouldn’t have,” I say decisively.
“You should have!” She argues. “I wanted you to. Wes, please don’t … please ...” she strokes along my arm, peering up at me with needy, hopeful eyes that nearly pull me right back in.
“Wes … I want you just like this,” she whispers.
Trusting my tongue would be a mistake. Saying anything would lead to another kiss, which would mean walking inside. She deserves more than a moment driven by adrenaline and heat, and I need to prove—to both of us—that I can still choose control.
I put her keys in her hand and walk away. It’ll be a solid hour of walking, but clearly I need it to cool off. I’m hard from a kiss, just kissed a woman fifteen years younger than me, the colonel’s daughter – the man who was my superior for years.
When did wanting stop feeling manageable? And how did I let myself forget, even for a moment, the lines I’ve spent a lifetime holding?
One man raising his voice at her and I have to remind myself to restrain rather than break him? I have to grit my teeth against every urge to fracture his wrist so his fingers are numb and he won’t remember how she felt because of the pain? And after managing that, I surrender to a fucking ‘please?’
I still feel the heat of her breath, can still feel her soft tongue teasing mine. Her silky hair, the way she melted against me like she belongs in my arms and it’s the only place she can let go of everything else … no. She’s not mine to have. There’s too much that won’t work.
It’s not logical. It’s all emotion and lust and curiosity.
So why isn’t my curiosity sated? Why can’t I think about anything but her?
The exposure technique I’ve been trying – spending time with her in small doses to erase my feelings – is clearly not working considering it took one ‘please.’ God, it was the best sound I’d ever heard.
Her needy, hopeful eyes lit from within, more beautiful than any gemstone and more captivating than any spell. That one whispered word, the way her lips wrapped around it, the way the word fell off her tongue and onto my lips. How perfectly she fits against me.
