It’s butterflies and fireworks and unicorns doing backflips through clouds of cotton candy—it is ridiculous and overwhelming and utterly perfect.
He tastes like berry water.
Like comfort and danger all at once.
Mercs’ fingers tighten in my hair, dominant and possessive, and my knees wobble. A deep groan rumbles from his chest as my hands slide up his arms, gripping his biceps as they flex beneath my touch. He grinds against me, and I feel myself dissolve into him. But then… he slows. His lips ease back. Hebreaks the kiss, chest heaving as he loosens his grip and takes a slow step away.
We’re breathless, staring at each other like the room just shifted on its axis.
My pulse is still skidding around my ribs when I step back, fingers hooking into the zipper at the side of my purple leather dress.
Mercs’ eyes darken instantly.
“You sure you wanna do that?” His voice drops, gravel and heat and a warning wrapped in one.
I arch a brow at him. “Do what?”
His jaw tightens as I slowly drag the zipper down. The sound is obscene in the quiet room. Leather loosens around my ribs, sliding over my hips as I peel it off and let it drop to the floor.
I’m left standing in nothing but a purple lace bra and matching panties.
Mercs goes very still.
Not relaxed still.
Predator still.
His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every inch. His chest rises once, heavy. “Effa…” He swallows. “If you’re stripping, I’m not exactly built for restraint right now.”
A laugh slips out of me. Soft and teasing before I say, “Relax, dude.”
He doesn’t look relaxed.
I step past him and scoop up his T-shirt from where it’s hanging over the back of the chair. His eyes follow every movement like he’s tracking prey.
“I can’t sleep in leather,” I say, wiggling my toes as if that explains everything. “It’s hot. It squeaks. It’s a whole situation.”
His brows pull together. “So you’re not…”
“No.” I flash him a grin. “Not tonight.”
There’s a flicker of something across his face. Relief? Disappointment? Both?
I tug his shirt over my head, the cotton sliding down over my bare skin. It falls to mid-thigh, swallowing me in softness that smells like him. Clean soap and stage sweat and something darker underneath.
Safe.
His gaze softens a fraction. “You’re killin’ me, you know that?”
I tilt my head. “You survived the kiss.”
“Barely.”
I bend to pick up my dress, draping it over the arm of the sofa. When I straighten, he’s still watching me like I might change my mind.
I don’t.
Instead, I nod toward the sofa. “So… time for bed?”
