This was easier when it was reckless.
When we fucked like horny teenagers who didn’t know better.
When we were just bodies colliding.
When it didn’t mean anything.
But Hayden doesn’t look at me like I mean nothing to him tonight.
He looks at me like I matter.
Like he loves me.
The thought petrifies me.
But not enough to leave.
Not when this man is a drug. And not the recreational kind. The slow, intoxicating kind that seeps into your bloodstream and rewires you from the inside out. Even though I know the eventual withdrawal will destroy me, I take the hit anyway.
He runs a hand along the curve of my face, his thumb settling on my lower lip. “You are so beautiful.”
A shaky exhale leaves me before I can stop it. It’s not just his words that undo me. It’s the way he says them. Like he can’t go another second without sharing this with me.
“And I’m not talking about your body,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine. “But your soul. Your spirit.” He slides his hand over my collarbone until his palm rests over my scar. “And your heart. You have the most beautiful heart I’ve ever known.”
He presses his mouth fully against mine, coaxing my lips to part.
It takes everything in me not to blurt out the truth. That the heart he admires so much once belonged to his late wife. But I can’t stomach the idea of never feeling him again.
So I selfishly keep my secret to myself and let him guide me toward the bed. When the back of my legs hit the mattress, he releases me, but keeps his eyes trained on me.
He shrugs off his jacket, loosening his tie and tossing it onto the floor before slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
I’ve seen this man naked dozens of times. Touched every inch of him. Learned the feel of his body. The sound he makes when he can’t contain his hunger.
But this feels different.
More intimate.
More dangerous.
Once he drops his shirt onto the floor, he pulls me against him and I melt into him as he touches his lips to mine.
His fingers find the hem of my sweater, and he breaks away to lift it over my head, discarding it along with his clothes. His hands roam my body, as if imprinting every inch of me to memory. When his fingers tease the waistband of my jeans, a shiver rolls through me.
I allow him to lower the zipper and push them down my legs. I kick them to the side, feeling more vulnerable than I ever have. And I’m not even naked yet.
He curves toward me, capturing my mouth in another kiss I feel in the deepest parts of my soul as he unclasps my bra, removing it. He spins me around, splaying a hand on my stomach and pressing soft kisses to my neck.
I crane my head, allowing him better access as he worships my body. When he pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, I release something between a yelp and a moan, hunger curling through me.
I’m on the brink of telling him to get on with it already. To throw me on the bed and fuck me.
But I’m enjoying this. The buildup. The anticipation. The need.
He slides his hand from my breast and down my torso. My muscles tighten as he teases my hipbone before moving toward the apex of my thighs. I widen my stance slightly in invitation.
“Is this what you want?” he murmurs against my neck. “For me to touch you?”
