That’s when I made my decision. I would take one thing. Just one. A single kiss while he slept, like some princess in a tower, and then I would never take anything from him again. I would resign myself to a sexless marriage, to having him close butnever truly having him. But I needed this one moment. This one last taste of what could never be mine.
I carefully shifted in his arms, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. My ribs screamed in protest, but I ignored the pain. This was worth it.
When I was finally facing him, I could see his face in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful in sleep. His lips were slightly parted, and I felt my breath catch at how beautiful he was.
Just one kiss. That’s all I would take.
I leaned in slowly, giving him every chance to wake up and stop me. But he didn’t. He just lay there, his arm still draped over me, his breathing steady and even.
When my lips touched his, it was gentle. Soft. A whisper of contact that barely qualified as a kiss. But the moment our mouths met, something electric shot through me. Nick was beautiful, rugged, and perfect in every way. I craved him more than any other man I’d ever met.
I started to pull back, to end this before I took more than I’d promised myself. But then his lips moved under mine.
He was awake.
My eyes flew open just as his did, and for a heartbeat we just stared at each other, our mouths still touching, both of us frozen in shock.
Then he made a sound—something between a gasp and a moan—and his hand tightened around my bicep, yanking me closer instead of pushing me away.
He was kissing me back.
His mouth was hot and insistent against mine, and I forgot how to breathe. My fractured ribs screamed in protest as he pulled me closer, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the feeling of Nick’s lips moving against mine, the way his fingers dug into my arm like he was afraid I’d disappear.
This wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t tentative. This was desperate and hungry and everything I’d fantasized about but never thought I’d have.
I cupped his face with my free hand, deepening the kiss. He made another sound, lower this time, and opened his mouth to me. The first touch of his tongue against mine sent electricity racing down my spine.
He tasted like toothpaste and man, and I wanted to drown in it. Wanted to memorize every detail of this moment before he came to his senses and pushed me away.
But he didn’t push me away. Instead, his hand slid from my arm to the back of my neck, holding me in place as he kissed me like his life depended on it. Like he’d been starving for this just as much as I had.
When we finally broke apart, both gasping for air, his green eyes were dark with something that made my stomach clench with want.
“I—” he started, but I cut him off.
“Don’t apologize,” I said, my voice rough. “Please don’t apologize for that.”
“I wasn’t going to.” His thumb brushed along my jaw, and I shivered at the contact. “I was going to say I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“That makes two of us.”
He laughed, breathless and shaky, and then he was kissing me again. This time I was ready for it, ready for the way he took control, his tongue sliding against mine with an urgency that made my head spin.
My hand found his hip, pulling him closer despite the protest from my ribs. I could feel him, fully hard now against my thigh, and the knowledge that I did this to him—thatImade straight, stubborn Nick Wesley want me like this—was almost more than I could handle.
“Dante,” he breathed against my mouth, and hearing my name on his lips like that nearly undid me.
“Yeah?”
“I need—” He broke off, his hips rolling against mine in a way that made us both groan. “Fuck, I need...”
“Tell me.” I kissed along his jaw, down to his neck, tasting salt and skin. “Tell me what you need.”
His answer was to grab my hand and guide it between us, pressing my palm against the hard length of him through his sweatpants. I felt him pulse under my touch, and the broken sound he made went straight to my cock.
“Touch me,” he said, and it sounded like a confession. Like admitting defeat. “Please, just—touchme.”
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I slipped my hand under the waistband of his sweatpants, wrapping my fingers around his cock. He was hot and hard and perfect, and when I stroked him once, experimentally, his whole body shuddered.
