I rise up to meet him, opening my lips when he runs his tongue along them. My hands go to his sides, fisting into his shirt. His fingers tighten in my hair, angling my head where he wants it. A low sound of satisfaction rumbles up from his throat as he deepens the kiss. He pulls back to breathe.
“Fuck,” he growls against my lips, “this is a bad idea.” But he doesn’t let go or move off of me.
I freeze. I’ve tried to move past the need for him to find me attractive, but his words bring everything flooding back. I don’t know where his head is at. Does he regret this kiss too? Does he find me attractive or is this a case of forced proximityand healthy libidos? All I know is that I don’t want to get hurt again. Even if this did go further, I can’t give him more than this anyway. I’ve been hurt too many times, by too many people to start dropping my walls now because he’s hot and he saved my life. This is the worst kind of disaster waiting to happen.
His fingers loosen in my hair but he doesn’t let go completely. He sits up and looks down at me, his eyes searching mine. “No. Not like that.” Before I can open my mouth to argue, he continues. “I mean this. Us.” His thumb brushes over the curve of my cheekbone where the bruise has mostly faded. He makes a gesture between the two of us, pointing back and forth. “Me bringin’ danger to your doorstep. My fuckin’ job. The fact that I shouldn’t be doin’ this when we both know I can’t promise anything pretty, or safe, or easy.” His voice drops lower and he continues firmly, “Has nothin’ to do with how badly I want you.”
“I didn’t ask you to promise me anything,” I say quietly.
He leans forward, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s struggling with something painful. “You should,” he mutters. “You should be demandin’ guarantees. Should be throwin’ me the hell off for even thinkin’ about touchin’ you when I can’t give you normal.” His hands brace on the couch arm on both sides of my head, as he leans back to look at me again. “But Christ, Seriphina,” he rasps, “if you tell me to stop now, I will. Just know it won’t be because I fuckin’ want to.”
“What do you want?” I ask the question that’s been haunting me since he showed up in my bathroom and sat with me on the bloody tile.
He goes still, like I’ve pulled the pin on the grenade he was holding to his chest. “You,” he says. “In every goddamn way that matters. Even though it’s selfish. Even though I know better.” His hand comes back to cup my face, his thumb trails over my bottom lip. “But I need to hear you say it too.”
“I...” I trail off. I want him. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But this is more than physical to him. What I feel for him, if I give into it, means I hand him the power to destroy me. He would leave me in more shattered pieces than I could ever hope to put back together. I swore off men for a reason. Multiple reasons actually. Reasons I’m not ready to share. “Does it have to be more than just this?”
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shakes his head. “No,” he admits roughly. “It doesn’t.” But the way his jaw tightens and he pushes himself up and off the couch, putting distance between us, tells a different story. “We can keep it simple,” he says, his voice controlled. He shifts like he locked something inside of himself. “If that’s what you want.” He walks toward the kitchen, to look for that whiskey glass he couldn’t find earlier.
“Wait, something happened. Don’t do that.” I scramble to sit up. I lost something, though I don’t know what it was.
He stops in his tracks, shoulders tensing. He stares at the opposite wall before turning back to me. All the heat that was in him before is gone, replaced with a different kind of intensity. “Nothin’ happened,” he says coldly. “You want simple? This is the easiest way to make that happen. No strings, no complications, just physical release. Nothin’ deep, right?”
“You may be standing in the same room as me, Griffin. But you retreated internally to fucking Antarctica.” I stand up to follow him across the room. I told him I didn’t want more but his agreement to it feels like metal shards tearing at my insides. I hate feeling like I hurt him. “You’re the one that said this was a bad idea.”
He whirls around, his hands clenched at his sides. “Because it is,” he snaps, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it anyway. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t tear the world apart if it meant keepin’ you safe—keepin’ you mine. But I can’t ask for that when mylife is a warzone and yours has been blown to hell.” He takes a breath and his voice drops lower. “So yeah, call this retreatin’. Call it whatever the fuck you want. It’s the only way either of us walks away whole.”
I shift uncomfortably on my feet, my arms wrapping around myself. My head dips. He’s agreeing to what I asked, so why do I feel the overwhelming need to explain myself? “Griffin, please. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just...”
“Just what?” He’s guarded.
“After... after the last time. I swore I’d never let myself get hurt again. I don’t care what you do for work. I don’t care if you think you’re too damaged. Whether you believe me or not, I don’t think there’s something wrong with you. I think there’s something wrong with love.” I run my hands through my hair. I don’t know if I’m making any sense. I hate the idea that he thinks I see him for anything less than what he is.
He pauses, his shoulders relax nominally. Something like surprise flickers through his eyes. “The last time,” he says, it’s not a question. Almost like he knows what happened to me. But that’s impossible because I don’t talk about it with anyone. He crosses the space between us. “Explain.”
“Everyone I’ve ever been with has hurt me.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I’m not ready to open those wounds up. I give him as much as I can. “The only relationships I’ve had either broke bones or cheated. I...” I open my eyes and look up at him. “I don’t want to ever hurt like that again. The only way to guarantee that, is to never let it be about feelings.”
He processes my words as his gaze burns into me. He reaches up and slips his fingers around the back of my neck. His thumb gently traces the outline of my jaw. His touch is careful, like he’s handling something breakable. “You think lovin’ someone means you’re gonna get hurt.”
I nod.
“So you decided the only way to keep yourself safe is to keep people from gettin’ close in the first place.” His tone is soft, measured. “That means you haven’t let anyone get close in what? Years?”
“Seven.”
His chin drops slightly in shock, his eyes widening. He lets out a slow breath.“Seven fuckin’ years,” he repeats. “So when you tell me you don’t do relationships, it’s because you’re afraid of gettin’ hurt.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. We barely know each other. I didn’t think you’d want...” I have to fight the thoughts that tell me I’m being presumptuous. That this entire conversation hasn’t been because he wants more and I don’t. That I’m being too full of myself to think this man, who looks like he was chiseled out of stone by Michelangelo, wants me. Right?
He lets out a harsh laugh. “Didn’t think I’d want what, Seriph? You? Goddamn, I’ve had you in my head since the moment I saw you in that bookstore. I’ve wanted to be near you ever since. No matter how much I told myself it was a bad idea.”
“I was going to say ‘more.’ You’re awful upset for someone who keeps telling me this is a mistake. That you can’t promise me easy or safe. So, why are you so mad that I tried to make it simple? And what is it about your job, your life that makes this so fucking complicated anyway?” I’m starting to get irritated. I’m not the only one that had reservations about starting anything. He’s been very clear he thinks he should stay away from me. Our reasons might be different but I’m not taking all the blame for having walls up when he clearly has some of his own.
“Because my job is trackin’ down people who don’t want to be found,” he growls, like the answer is obvious, “and every single one of them has friends. Deadly friends. Every contract leaves me with more people who’d love nothin’ better than to put abullet in my head or worse, hurt someone I care about.” His voice is rough with conviction as he pulls me closer. “And yeah, you’re right. This is a mistake. But some mistakes are worth makin’.”
“You know this could destroy us both and yet, you want to do this anyway. Are you sure that’s not your dick talking?” I frown up at him, my hesitation giving way to frustration.
He practically snarls, his grip tightens. “You think this is about sex?” he demands. “Then you haven’t been listenin’. I didn’t stay in your shop that night because I wanted to fuck you. I stayed because the thought of leavin’ you alone in that state made me want to burn the fuckin’ world down.” His next words are deliberate, harsh and unflinching. “But if all we are is physical? Then yeah, maybe this makes me just another man who took from you when he shouldn’t have.”
