He gives a guttural growl and his hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back to kiss me hard. He hooks my leg around him, holding me there as he grinds against me, so deep.
Fuckinghell. I love how he’s not being gentle—how he’s taking control with me. This isn’t like the last time we had sex, where he followed my lead. Now he’s wild, desperate, insatiable. He’s taking what he wants, and I’m going to give him everything.
I can feel the release growing inside me, hot and heavy and urgent. I can feel it from him too, because his kiss becomes more forceful, more demanding. I don’t know how I had sex with him without kissing him; I must have been out of my mind. His mouth is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I’ll never be satisfied with any other lips again.
Then I’m on the edge—so close—when he pulls his mouth off mine to meet my gaze, his eyes fierce and passionate. He can see right into me—I know he can—and he brings his lips to my ear to whisper, “I don’t ever want to let you go.”
Those words wreck me. My body takes over, splintering into a thousand pieces, until I don’t remember who I am, until I’m nothing more than energy and heat and waves of ecstasy. Just as I hit the peak, I feel him finally give in. His arms tighten around me, his hot skin slick with sweat, his mouth ravaging mine. He lets out a raw, primal groan against my lips, giving himself over to me.
After, we lie together for a long time, trying to slow our breathing. I keep my legs and arms wrapped around him, holding him close, holding him inside me. He’s very still but I know he hasn’t fallen asleep, because he’s looking at me.
Right at me.
His gaze is pinning me helplessly to the spot, and just as I’m about to look away, or push him off, or make an inappropriate joke to shatter the mood, his lips touch mine in a tender kiss. And I melt for him, wanting him all over again.
Oh, shit. I’m in so much trouble.
* * *
After some time,he rolls off and heads to the bathroom. And I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, my heart galloping. But it’s not from the sex. It’s from what he said.
I don’t ever want to let you go.
And that, well… I don’t know. I should be thinking that’s too much, too intense—just plain crazy.
But I’m not. The truth is, I love hearing those words from him. I want to believe them—hell, I want to say them back. And I haven’t wanted to say anything like that in a long time.
A tidal wave of thoughts and questions and fears crashes over me, pulling me under. I’m so busy fighting the current, trying to find my way to the surface, that I don’t even notice when Myles climbs back into bed, pulling me close. But as he tucks me into his arms, the waters calm and the thoughts ebb away. I close my eyes, pressing my nose to his warm, soft skin. There’s something about the smell of him—of his cologne and justhim—that soothes me, and I burrow into his chest. His hand strokes gently over my hair as I listen to his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm. And for the first time in a long time, I completely relax, feeling safe.
Wow. I never realized how much that was missing from my life, but now that I’m here in his arms, tracing my finger over the compass tattoo on his wrist, the feeling of safety is palpable. I can’t remember the last time I felt something even close to this.
I’m barely aware that I’m on the cusp of drifting off to sleep when Myles speaks.
“Do you want me to go?”
I blink, drawing back to look at him. I should say yes; it would make this so much less complicated, but—
“I really want to stay, but only if that’s what you want.”
I nestle back against his chest, knowing there’s only one thing I want to say, and that I’ll deal with the consequences later.
“Stay.”
27
Ishouldn’t have let Myles stay.
I’m awake at least an hour before him, my mind spinning as the early morning light sneaks in under the curtains. I feel like a madwoman, trying to make sense of my tangled thoughts. One minute I want to roll over and curl up in his arms, the next I want to throw on some sneakers and run for my life.
I can’t deny that last night was amazing. But I also can’t shake this reluctance I feel, this undercurrent of… something. Whatisthat sensation gnawing at me? Is it regret?
No.I can answer that immediately. There’s no doubt in my mind about how much I wanted him—how much Istillwant him.
But there’s more to this than that. Being certain about the fact that Iwanthim doesn’t mean I’m certain about whether or not it’s a good idea. And that’s what they all say, isn’t it? When you know, youknow.
And now, in the cold light of morning, I suddenly realize I don’t know shit.
I slip out of bed before he wakes, showering and dressing in the bathroom, trying to get my head on straight. It doesn’t work, of course, and by the time I’m curled up in the chair in the corner of my bedroom watching him sleep, I’m more confused than ever. He’s gorgeous, his olive skin a shade darker against the white of my sheets, that tattooed arm slung across my side of the bed, as if he was reaching for me. I like the thought of that.
