“I owe you,” I insist, and this time I let my fingers slip from his wrist to his hand, threading them through his like it’s intimate, like it’s trusting.
His grip tightens automatically, and I feel it. The moment his body chooses me even while his brain protests.
I rise onto my tiptoes.
He goes taut, breath turning rough, eyes locked on my mouth like it’s the only thing in the room. Our lips are a mere heartbeat away.
The kiss is supposed to be an act. A distraction. But it doesn’t behave.
He meets me halfway like he’s been falling for four years and finally found the ground. His lips capture mine and heat tears through me so fast my knees dance. His hand catches my hip, not rough, not gentle, just necessary to keep me standing, and pulls me closer. The world narrows to his mouth and the way I still perfectly fit there.
Fuck. I want to rage. I want to scream.
I forget why I started this.
He tastes like danger and nineteen and regret. I open to him and hate how easy it is. The old rhythm snaps on like a lamp. My fingers in his hair, his palm at the small of my back, the soft sound I can’t help when his tongue skims mine.
A noise escapes him. It’s wrecked and reverent, and it slices me open. For a breath, I let myself drown. I let the part of me that presses a palm to an inked blossom believe in a version ofthe world where we’re not enemies, not hunted, not made into weapons.
Then I hear his voice again in my head—I’ve got her here. I’ll hold until you get——and the water goes black.
I break the kiss and sway, dizzy with the whiplash. His forehead rests against mine, eyes closed. It’s like he’s saying a prayer he doesn’t quite believe in.
“Cat,” he whispers. “Tell me to stop.”
I almost do.
Instead, I smile against his mouth, slow and sinful, and let my fingertips trail up the back of his neck and find the tender spot at the base of his skull where bone meets nerve. He shivers, eyes opening and pupils blown.
“Don’t stop,” I breathe, and capture his mouth again.
He doesn’t.
His guard drops the rest of the way, his cock hard and pressed against my belly. It’s a feat to ignore the raging heat growing between my legs. His gun is forgotten, and his phone is face down on the counter. Every instinct that kept him alive is softened by a woman he should have run from. Again.
My hands map the line of his shoulders, slide into his hair tugging, and then move lower. One palm flattens against his chest to feel the thunder there and the other slips down to his cock.
He lets out a groan, his hips grinding against my palm. He’s too busy kissing me to notice the shift.
I move.
My knee bumps his shin and his weight shifts forward. My fingers re-angle, not to caress but to strike. I snap the bottom edge of my palm to the spot I just softened behind his neck, precise and brutal.
The human body is treacherous. It keeps secrets. It also keeps off switches.
A white flare darts through his eyes. His mouth parts, confused, and then he folds, catching himself on the counter enough to stop a full collapse. I guide him down so he doesn’t split his head on the edge. It’s almost tender, but it feels like murder.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I mean it so damned much it hurts.
He blinks up at me, pupils losing their fight. “Kitty—” His hand finds my thigh, not to hold, just to confirm I’m real. Then his eyes roll, and the room lets him go.
I kneel there for three breaths with my palm over his chest, needing to feel the steady beats beneath his ribcage until the sting in my throat becomes something I can use.
Move.
I grab the phone from the counter. The last call is labeledLeo. My stomach tilts.If Ale asks… I’ll hold until you get—Maybe not betrayal. Maybe protection? The doubt hits too late.
My fingers are flying across the keypad.
