“I’m scared,” I admit. “I’ve been alone for so long, I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“We could figure it out together.”
“Could we?”
“I’d like to try.” His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb tracing along my cheekbone. “If you’ll let me.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it. His face is inches from mine, his breath warm on my lips, his eyes asking a question I’m not sure I know how to answer.
“Stone...”
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs. “If you don’t want this. Tell me to stop and I will.”
I don’t want him to stop. That’s the terrifying part. I want him to close the distance, to kiss me, to make good on every heated look and charged moment of the past months.
I want him. And that wanting scares me more than anything.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper.
His eyes flare—heat, relief, hunger. His hand slides from my cheek into my hair, tilting my head back, and he leans in.
His lips brush mine. Soft. Questioning. A kiss that’s barely a kiss, giving me every opportunity to pull away.
I don’t pull away.
I kiss him back.
He makes a sound low in his throat—surprise, maybe, or relief—and then the gentleness evaporates. His mouth claims mine, hot and demanding, and I open for him without thinking, my good hand fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
He tastes like coffee and something darker, something that makes my head spin in ways that have nothing to do with the concussion. His tongue sweeps against mine, and I gasp, and he swallows the sound, one hand cradling my head while the other slides down to my hip.
“Josie,” he breathes against my mouth. “God, Josie?—”
I arch into him—and immediately regret it as fire lances through my ribs.
“Shit—” I hiss, pulling back.
“Your ribs. Fuck. I’m sorry—” He starts to pull away, but I grab his shirt, hold him in place.
“Don’t you dare apologize.” I’m breathing hard, which hurts, but I don’t care. “Just... be gentle. For now.”
For now.The words hang between us, heavy with promise.
Stone’s eyes darken. “For now?”
“Did I stutter?”
He groans, dropping his forehead to mine. “You’re going to kill me.”
“That’s the plan.”
He laughs and the sound sends delicious shivers down my spine. He kisses me again, softer this time, careful of my injuries but no less intense.
His hand traces up my side, feather-light, and I shiver. His mouth leaves mine, trailing down my jaw, my neck, finding the spot below my ear that makes me gasp?—
BANG BANG BANG.
The bedroom door shudders under someone’s fist.
