His mouth was warm and firm and devastatingly gentle all at once.
I’d kissed men before.
None of them had ever kissed me like this.
Like they were memorizing me.
Like they were afraid to hurt me—and more afraid to let me go.
I gasped softly as his lips moved against mine, his thumb brushing my jaw, tipping my head just enough to deepen the kiss. He tasted like coffee and heat and something unmistakably him. Solid. Steady. Dangerous in the best way.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far.
Our foreheads rested together, breaths tangled, his chest rising fast beneath my palms.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice rough, restrained to the edge of breaking.
I shook my head.
“Tell me you’re sure.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I whispered.
That was all it took.
Trigger kissed me again—slower this time, deeper. His hands slid down my back, tracing my spine like he was learning every inch of me, committing it to memory. The contact sent heat curling low in my stomach, unfamiliar and overwhelming in its intensity.
I clutched his shirt, fingers tightening as the reality of what we were doing sank in.
He was touching me like I mattered.
Not like something fragile to be handled with kid gloves—but like something precious.
When his mouth drifted from mine, brushing along my jaw, my ear, my throat, I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Eli…” I whispered.
His lips paused at my pulse. “I’ve wanted to hear you say my name for a long time.”
The words sent a shiver straight through me.
He guided me backward until my calves hit the edge of the couch. I sat without breaking eye contact, my heart pounding hard enough I was sure he could hear it. He followed me down, crowding the space between my knees, one hand braced beside my hip, the other resting warm and steady on my thigh.
Not rushing.
Never rushing.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. “More than okay.”
His gaze softened—and then darkened with something unmistakably hungry.
He leaned in, kissing me again, deeper this time, his body pressing into mine just enough to make me aware of him. Of the strength in his frame. Of the control he was holding onto by sheer will.
My hands slid beneath his jacket, over hard muscle and warmth, and he inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.
“Rylie,” he warned gently.
