He drags in a breath. “This wouldn’t be a good idea.”
My hands tremble at my sides. “Why?”
He pulls back just enough to search my face. His gaze is fierce, protective, conflicted.
“You’re twenty-four,” he says roughly. “You’re bright. You’re good. You deserve someone who doesn’t come with this much damage.”
My stomach tightens. “I’m not made of glass.”
He huffs out something between a laugh and a curse. “You’re too young.”
“I’m not innocent.”
He closes his eyes like that lands somewhere dangerous.
“You don’t know what I’d do to you,” he mutters.
My pulse spikes. “What would you do?”
His jaw tightens. “Ruin you.”
The word hits like a spark to gasoline.
I should step back.
I should breathe.
Instead I lean closer.
“Maybe I don’t mind.”
His eyes snap open, heat blazing in them.
“Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
The power dynamic shifts, crackles, reshapes. He’s holding himself back by threads. I can see it in the way his fingers flex at his sides, in the way his chest rises sharply.
“You think you’re the only one trying?” I ask quietly.
He studies me, searching.
“I’m not a boy teasing you in a playground,” he says. “If I cross that line, Tess, I won’t half-step it.”
My stomach flips.
“Then don’t half-step,” I whisper.
Silence detonates between us.
He looks like he’s about to snap.
Instead, he exhales hard and presses a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead.
The restraint in it is almost cruel.
