I kiss her deeper, hungrier, pouring every ounce of the fear and fury I’ve been choking on since I saw her on that bar floor straight down her throat. One hand stays cradled against her jaw, gentle there, always gentle where she’s hurt, while the other spreads wide across her lower back, holding her exactly where I want her.
When we finally break for air it’s ragged. Foreheads pressed together. Breathing hard enough to share it. Her fingers are still fisted in my shirt while mine frame her face like she might slip away if I let go.
I don’t open my eyes right away. I just feel her. The heat of her skin. The rapid flutter of her pulse under my thumb. The way her body has gone soft and trusting against mine.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I mutter, voice scraped raw. “And I was so goddamn pissed you went in there.”
My thumb traces the bow of her upper lip, staying clear of the damage. “Pissed you got hurt. Pissed I let it happen.”
She exhales against my mouth, shaky. “I know.”
I force my eyes open and look at her. Really look at her. The bruise darkening by the second. The exhaustion under her eyes. The stubborn spark that refuses to go out. “I’m not leaving tonight,” I tell her, flat and final.
Her mouth curves, small but real, and something in my chest loosens for the first time in hours. “Didn’t think you were.”
Her lips are still brushing mine when I feel it, the exact second the last of her fear turns into something hotter. Her fingers tighten in my shirt, not pulling me closer this time, but anchoring herself like she’s about to let go of every wall she’s ever built.
I break the kiss just enough to speak against her mouth. “Bedroom.”
My voice comes out low, gravel-rough, the kind of tone I usually save for orders I expect followed.
Her eyes flick up to mine, pupils wide. For half a heartbeat I think she might argue, might throw that mouth of hers at me and test me the way she always does. Instead she breathes out a shaky, “Upstairs. First door on the right.”
That’s all I need.
I scoop her up without warning, one arm under her knees, the other banded across her back. She gasps, hands flying to myshoulders, but she doesn’t fight it. Her legs hook around my waist instinctively as I start moving.
The stairs creak under my boots. Every step makes my pulse hammer harder. I kick the bedroom door open with my heel.
It’s dark except for the silver moonlight cutting through the curtains and the warm glow of a bedside lamp she must’ve left on earlier. The bed is unmade, sheets tangled, pillows shoved to one side like she’s been restless for days. It smells like her, citrus and hay and something faintly sweet underneath.
I set her on the edge of the mattress, but I don’t let her go far. My hands stay on her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft dip above her jeans as I lean over her, forcing her to tip her head back to meet my eyes.
“You scared the shit out of me tonight,” I say, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to do that again. Understand?”
Her breath catches. She nods, but it’s not enough.
“Words, Rae.”
“Yes,” she whispers. Then quieter, “I understand.”
“Good girl.”
The praise lands like a spark. Her thighs press together. I feel the tiny shift against my hips, and it damn near snaps what little control I’ve got left.
I drop to my knees between her legs. My hands slide up her thighs, thumbs hooking under the waistband of her jeans. “Lift.”
She does. Hips rising without argument. I drag the denim down her legs along with her underwear in one rough pull and tossthem somewhere behind me. The second she’s bare I spread her thighs wide with my palms, opening her completely.
She’s already wet. Glistening in the low light.
The sight of her like this, bruised face flushed, chest rising fast, spread for me, blows through the last leash I had on myself. I don’t tease. I’ve waited too fucking long for slow. I lean in and drag my tongue up the center of her in one long, firm stroke.
She cries out and her hands fly to my hair, gripping hard. “Cole.”
I answer by sealing my mouth over her clit and sucking.
Hard.
