“I’ve been trying to be a gentleman, Josie.” His voice drops, rough and low. “Trying not to be the asshole who takes advantage of a woman recovering from serious injuries.” He stops right in front of me, close enough to touch. “But if you’re telling me you want more...”
“I—yes. Obviously yes.”
His expression shifts, the careful control cracking to reveal the heat underneath.
“Okay.” He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “But first, we talk. Cards on the table. Because I’m not interested in a one-time thing with you, and I need to know you understand what you’re getting into.”
“And just what exactly am I’m getting into?”
“Me. The club. All of it.” His gray eyes hold mine. “I want you, Josie. I’ve always wanted you. But if we do this, it’s not casual. Not for me.”
Oh.
It’s such a Stone answer—turning my inside out once more.
His words land deep in my chest, expanding as I absorb his meaning. They take up space I didn’t know was empty.
Part of me wants to run. To make a joke, deflect, protect myself. His admission is terrifying, but it’s also everything I’ve wanted to hear someone say to me.
If I say yes—if I let myself have this—there’s no going back to safe. No more hiding behind professional distance and pretending I don’t feel what I feel.
Courage, dear heart.
“And if I say it’s not casual for me either?”
His eyes darken. “Josie...”
“I’m serious.” I shift closer to him, ignoring the twinge in my ribs. “I’ve been around the club, I get how this works. You’re the go-to guy. You’re the one they come to and rely on.” I place a hand on his thigh. “Maybe I want to be the oneyouneed.”
He curses. “You’re pushing my buttons, sweetheart.”
I chuckle. “Good. Does that mean you’re giving into my feminine wiles?”
He leans over me, hesitating. “You’re still recovering. This can’t go far.”
I fist his shirt in my hands. “I’m not made of glass, Stone. I’m a little banged up, sure. But I know what I want. And what I want is you.”
“Your ribs?—”
“Are healing nicely.” I hold his gaze, letting him see the truth of what I’m saying. “I’m not asking you to throw me against a wall. I’m asking you to stop treating me like I’ll shatter if you touch me.”
I watch as raw, hungry need washes over his face.
“Josie.” His voice is rough, strained. “I need you to be sure. Because once I have you, I’m not letting go.”
“I’m sure.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before he’s kissing me.
It’s not like before—not gentle or questioning. This kiss is a claiming. His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back so he can take my mouth at exactly the angle he wants. He tastes like sin, and I want to fucking drown in him.
His lips are firm, demanding, coaxing mine open so his tongue can sweep inside. The scrape of his stubble against my chin sends shivers down my spine. He kisses like he does everything else—thorough, intense, completely focused on the task at hand. Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
I moan into his mouth, my hands clutching at his shoulders, feeling the heat of him through his shirt, the bunch and flex of muscle beneath my fingers. He swallows the sound and makes one of his own—a low growl that vibrates through me and settles somewhere deep in my belly.
“God, the sounds you make.” He breaks away just long enough to speak, his lips brushing mine with every word. Then he nips at my lower lip, a sharp sting that makes me gasp, before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue. “I’ve been imagining them for months.”
“Is the reality better?” I manage, breathless.
