Oh. This man.
I slide a palm along his scruffy cheek. He turns his face into it, pressing a slow, reverent kiss there.
“And I’m mad at myself,” he adds quietly, “for not wrapping you in ten pounds of bubble wrap and locking you in the house. Permanently.”
I giggle as he kisses my brow. Then my cheek.
“But you? I could never be mad at you.” His forehead rests against mine. “I stopped wanting more a long time ago. Stopped believing parts of my heart would ever grow back.” His breath comes uneven, ghosting across my lips. “But with you, I want more. I want this.”
He kisses me.
And it’s slow and devastating. It’s everything.
“I want you, Ava Alvarez. Or nothing at all.”
My heart stutters, and I forget how to breathe.
We’ve touched each other.
Had mind-blowing sex together.
But when all the power in his touch draws a soft line along my cheek, down my nape, and tangles through my hair, my knees go weak.
He tethers me to him, and I can’t push him away. I don’t have the strength.
I wouldn’t even if I did.
“I need you, Pix.”
The world tilts as he lifts me up, rushes me to the counter, and spreads my legs.
Then, without warning, he stops. “This is wrong,” he says.
Oh, God.
While I need him so much it hurts, he’s coming to his senses.
I’m already preparing to crawl into a hole and die when he exhales hard and adds, “The kids. They could come in any minute. The door doesn’t lock.”
Shit. He’s right.
His eyes darken, a wildfire blazing behind the blue.
I bite my lip. “My room?”
“You’re goddamn right, your room.”
We’re there in ten seconds flat.
“Naked. Now,” he orders.
Yes, sir.
I tear off his shirt and jeans, stripping him in a rush.
He tears off my dress. Not like last time. No gentleness. No control. Just the sound of fabric giving way under his rough hands.
Christ, I’m pretty sure it’s in shreds.
