“Didn’t I?”
The question stopped him cold. She was looking at him now with those clear green eyes, direct and unflinching, not backing down an inch.
“Sara.”
“I’m not an idiot, Ben. I looked it up. After you told me. I found an article about Other courtship rituals, and I—” She took a breath. “I brought you the cake anyway. Knowing what it meant. Knowing what I was saying.”
The air between them felt electric, charged with possibility.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Probably not.”
“I’m not safe for you.”
“Probably not.”
“I haven’t—” His voice cracked. He hated himself for it. “I haven’t been with anyone in six years. By choice. Because I couldn’t trust myself to?—”
“Ben.” She stepped closer, tilting her face up to his. “I’m not asking for promises. I’m not asking for forever. I’m just asking you to stop running away.”
“I’m not running away.”
“You carried me home Friday night and then avoided me for two days.”
“That wasn’t?—”
“You showed up at my classroom yesterday, told me you wanted to take what I was offering, and then disappeared before I could respond.”
“I didn’t?—”
“You’re running.” Her hand found his chest, pressing flat over his thundering heart. “I can feel it. You get close and then you pull back, and I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but?—”
“I’m afraid of this.” The words exploded out of him, raw and honest. “I’m afraid of wanting you so much it obliterates everything else. I’m afraid of losing control, of becoming the person I used to be, of?—”
She kissed him.
It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t gentle. She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level and pressed her mouth to his like she was trying to prove something.
For one perfect, crystallized second, he didn’t move.
Then his control snapped.
His arms wrapped around her, hauling her against his chest. His mouth opened over hers, his tongue sliding past her lips, tasting sugar and heat and Sara. She made a sound—a moan, a gasp, something that short-circuited what little remained of his higher brain functions.
Six years. Six years of nothing, of no one, of iron discipline and cold showers and the constant, grinding effort of keeping himself contained.
Gone. All of it obliterated by the feel of her curves pressed against him, the sound of her breathing his name, and the way she melted into his arms like she’d been made for them.
He walked her backwards until her back hit something solid—a fence post, a tree, he didn’t know and didn’t care. His hands were everywhere—her waist, her hips, the soft curve of her assthat had been haunting his dreams. She gasped when he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist.
“Ben—”
He kissed her harder, swallowing whatever she’d been about to say. His teeth grazed her lower lip and she shuddered, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The scent of her arousal hit him like a punch to the gut—rich and sweet and his.
Mine.
The word echoed through him, primal and possessive. His mouth moved from her lips to her jaw to her throat, finding the place where her pulse hammered beneath soft skin. He could feel the urge rising in him—the need to bite, to mark, to make sure everyone who looked at her knew she was taken.
