I nodded, not trusting my voice. He stopped moving, opened his arms. An invitation. An offer of comfort.
I should have said no. Should have gotten my water and gone back to my room.
Instead, I stepped into his embrace.
His arms wrapped around me, solid and warm. One hand stroked my hair while the other pressed against the small of my back. His skin was hot against my cheek, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
It felt safe. Which was insane. I was finding safety with someone who'd shot a man without hesitation. Someone who lived in violence. Someone who was dangerous in every possible way.
But I did feel safe. Protected. Like nothing could hurt me as long as I was in his arms.
I'm supposed to be pulling away from him. Not getting closer. Not letting myself need this. Need him.
But I couldn't seem to make myself move.
I looked up at him. "Thank you. For being here."
"Always." His voice was rough. "I'm always here for you."
I should pull away now. Should walk away before this gets more complicated.
But my feet wouldn't move. I just stood there, staring up at him, my heart racing for entirely different reasons now.
He closed what little distance remained between us. His eyes traveled down my body slowly, deliberately. Taking in my sleep shorts that barely covered anything. The thin tank top that left little to the imagination. The way my robe had fallen open.
"Damn." The word came out frustrated. Almost pained.
"What?" My voice was barely above a whisper.
He was silent for a moment, his jaw working. Then he muttered something that sounded like a curse.
"Fuck it."
He pulled me against him hard, his hands gripping my waist. His mouth crashed down on mine and the world caught fire.
This wasn't like before. This wasn't gentle or careful. This was hunger. Desperation. Two people who'd been fighting this for too long finally giving in.
His tongue swept into my mouth, demanding and possessive. One hand tangled in my hair, angling my head exactly how he wanted it. The other slid down to my ass, gripping hard.
Then he was lifting me, setting me on the counter. My legs opened automatically and he stepped between them, pressing close.
I could feel him. All of him. Hard and thick and straining against his sweatpants. The evidence of exactly how much he wanted this. Wanted me.
A sound escaped my throat—half gasp, half moan. His hands gripped my hips, pulled me to the edge of the counter so we were pressed together completely.
The friction was incredible. Overwhelming. Not nearly enough.
His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, down to my neck. He bit down on my pulse point and pleasure shot through me so sharp I cried out.
"Kai—"
"I know." His voice was wrecked. "I know. But fuck, Aria, I can't stop. Can't think straight when you're this close."
His hands slid under my tank top, palms hot againstmy bare skin. They moved up, cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples through the thin fabric of my bra.
I moaned, my head falling back, giving him better access to my neck. This was insane. We were in the kitchen. Anyone could walk in.
I didn't care. All I cared about was his hands on me, his mouth on my skin, the way he was making me feel things I'd been desperately trying to suppress.
