“Don’t,” I interrupt, sharper than I mean to be. “Don’t give me time to overthink this. Don’t give me space to remember all the reasons this is complicated. Just…” my breath stutters, “… just be here with me. Please.”
Something changes in him.
Cracks open.
The careful restraint he’s been wearing like armor fractures right down the center.
He lowers one hand to the small of my back when my legs shake, steadying me, holding me like he’s not letting me fall, physically or otherwise.
“Baby…” he murmurs, his voice a deep, rough rumble that sinks straight into my bones. “You’re shaking.” His thumb presses into my spine, controlled, grounding. “You think I don’t feel that?” His forehead stays against mine, his breath hot, his jaw tight as if he’s one second from losing it. “If you want to stop, you tell me now.” His grip tightens, not trapping, but claiming. “But if this shaking is because you want me…” his mouth grazes my cheek, a whisper-soft tease that sends heat flooding low in my belly, “… then say it. Because the second you do…” Two fingers lift my chin, urging me to look at him, toreallylook. “You’re getting all of me. No hesitation. No restraint. I’ll take every. Single. Tremble from you and make you shake for awholedifferent reason.”
My heartbeat punches hard against my ribs.
My voice barely makes it out, wrecked and honest.
“I do want you,” I whisper. My hands fist against his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer. “I want you more than I want to be careful, more than I want to be smart. I’m shaking because I need you. Right-fucking-now!”
His breath shudders out of him, as if those words just tore the last thread of control clean in half.
“Good,” he growls, low and satisfied, his mouth ghosting my lips without touching. “Then I’m all yours, Small Town.”
His fingers find the zipper at the back of my dress, and the sound, that slow, irrevocable slide, echoes in the room like the start of something we can’t take back.
And neither of us wants to.
The burgundy fabric loosens around me, the cool air of the apartment whispering against my heated skin. I watch his face as he eases the dress off my shoulders, the way his jaw clencheswhen more of me is revealed. The dress pools at my feet in a breath of expensive fabric, and I’m standing here in nothing but my black lace underwear and the stupid strappy heels that Sage insisted matched the dress perfectly.
The vulnerability crashes over me.
My arms move on their own, crossing over my stomach, trying to hide the soft curves that Derek spent years making me believe were flaws. My breath comes faster, shallow, and panic instantly creeps up my throat. “The lights…” I start, my voice cracking.
“Stay on.” Nitro’s voice is firm, commanding, and when I look at him, his eyes are blazing. “I want to see you, Marley.Allof you.”
“Nitro, I—”
He closes the distance between us, and his hands slide up to cup my face. “Do you trust me?”
The question hangs there, loaded with everything we haven’t said. Everything we still need to figure out. We have so much to sort through, so many conversations we need to have. But despite the age gap, despite the fact he’s a biker, despite my many obvious flaws, despite every logical reason, I should run.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Then trust me when I say this.” He leans down, his forehead resting against mine. “You are the most beautiful woman I haveeverseen. Every. Single. Inch. Of. You.”
His hands slide down to my wrists, gently pulling my arms away from my body, exposing me. Making me vulnerable in a way I haven’t been since Derek destroyed me.
“Your curves?” His voice drops to something reverent. “Fucking perfect. Your hips?” His hands trace them, and I shiver. “Made to fit my hands. Your thighs?” His touch skims lower. “Gorgeous. Everything about you, Marley. Every-fucking-thing.”
Tears prick at my eyes. “Derek said—”
“Derek is a fucking idiot who wouldn’t know perfection if it was standing naked in front of him.” The roughness in his voice makes my breath catch. “Which, by the way, it is.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, watery and relieved, and he smiles. Really smiles, that soft expression he only gives me.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s my girl.”
His girl.
The words settle over me like a blanket, warm, possessive, and right.
