"I'm never late."
"You were late that first day."
"That was an awning incident. Completely different category."
I laugh. Kiss him quick before I can overthink it. His hand catches my waist. Holds me there for one breath longer. Then lets go.
"Thirty minutes," he repeats.
"Thirty minutes."
I grab my bag. Head for the door. Turn back once to see him still standing amid the festival display. Looking at me like I'm something he's afraid to believe in.
I know the feeling.
But I'm going to try anyway.
I unlock my apartment door with shaking hands. The hallway light buzzes overhead. Stone stands behind me, his presence a warm wall. Close enough that I feel his breath stir my hair.
"Home sweet home," I say, flipping on the living room lamp. The space is tiny. Bookshelves crammed with paperbacks. A worn couch. Kitchenette barely big enough for one.
He ducks under the doorframe. Fills the room instantly. His green skin catches the light, scars like faint rivers across his arms. He sets down his bag, eyes roaming. Not judging. Curious.
"It's cozy."
"Code for small."
"Code for perfect." He steps closer. Cups my face with those massive hands. Gentle. Calluses rough against my skin. "Like you."
Heat floods me. I rise on tiptoes. Kiss him hard. His mouth opens under mine, tasting of spices and want. We stumble toward the bedroom, shedding coats. My shirt hits the floor. His follows, revealing broad chest, the V of muscle dipping low.
In the dim bedroom, he lifts me onto the bed. Effortless. I laugh, breathless. "You're strong."
"You're light." His voice rumbles. Fingers trace my collarbone, learning. Shaky at first. He explores my bra clasp, fumbles it open. "Tell me if I..."
"You won't." I guide his hand to my breast. His palm covers it completely. Warmth seeps through me, a shock that melts into liquid fire. I arch into his touch.
He groans. Low and guttural. Lowers his head. Mouth on my skin. Hot. Wet. Teeth grazing just enough to spark electricity down my spine. I tug at his pants. Feel the hard length of him press against my thigh. Massive. Intimidating.
We strip fully. Clumsy fingers. Bumped elbows. Laughter bubbles up when his knee catches the sheet. "Sorry," he mutters against my neck.
"Don't be." I pull him over me. His weight pins me, but he holds back. Braces on forearms. Our bodies align. Skin to skin. His heat envelops me, like sinking into sun-warmed earth. I wrap my legs around his hips. Guide him.
He enters slow. Careful. The stretch burns at first, a sharp shock that makes me gasp. He freezes. "Lacy?"
"Keep going." I dig nails into his back. Pleasure builds, overrides the ache. Intense waves crash through me as he moves. Deeper. Tender thrusts turn hungry. Mutual rhythm. My hands roam his scars, feeling every ridge. He buries his face in my hair, breath ragged.
Sweat slicks us. The bed creaks. I taste salt on his shoulder, bite down as climax builds. He reaches between us, fingers circling just right. Clumsy but perfect. I shatter first, crying out. He follows, body tensing, a deep growl vibrating through his chest.
We collapse. Shaken. His arms wrap around me, possessive. I trace patterns on his damp skin, smitten stupid.
"I want more," I whisper.
He lifts his head. Eyes soft. "I want more."
After, we lie tangled in sheets. My body hums, exhilarated. Every nerve alive. But guilt creeps in. This happened so fast.Instalove in days? Panic twists my gut. What about the cafe? Aunt Rene? The festival?
Stone props on an elbow. Grins wide, buoyant. His fingers twine in my hair. "Lacy Ellis, small warrior of books and brews. I vow on my crooked poetry and crushed spices: I'll stand guard over your realm. No councilwoman or crumbling grant shall breach these walls. Your dream stays safe with me."
