Like I could see her and she could see right through me, too.
Bishop tenses. “Why in the world would you worry about me? You barely know me.”
“I know enough. I’ve seen enough to understand that you take care of everyone else, even if it’s to your own detriment.”
She flinches again, as if that truth physically hurts her.
Maybe it does.
Her entire life is wrapped up in playing this one role, in being this specific person for her family, and that doesn’t leave room for her to think about what she needs or wants.
The sound of crickets and frogs in the lake and all the other animals that come out at night fills the air, and the tension between us thickens.
I tip my head closer, still holding her chin, still keeping her in place. “I think it’s time you let someone take care of you.”
She doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t retreat.
Her gaze continues to hold mine as I lean in and press my lips to hers.
I expect her to tense, to jerk free, but she doesn’t. She accepts my kiss and responds in kind, her mouth moving over mine.
Tentatively at first.
Exploring.
Seeking.
Allowing me to do the same until her hands come up to my chest and slide inside my unzipped jacket.
Her touch, her eagerness that matches my own spurs me to deepen the kiss, gliding my tongue across her lips. She opens for me, a tiny little moan in the back of her throat enough to make my cock ache and press against the confines of my jeans.
I roll her onto her back on the blanket and tug away, just far enough to allow myself to breathe. “Will you let me do that, Bishop? Will you let me take care of you?”
7
GAGE
She stares up at me from under impossibly long, thick lashes with dark, uncertain eyes, as if my question somehow confuses her when what I’m asking should be obvious.
This entire time, since the moment we met, it should have been obvious what I wanted—to be this close. To have her under me and trusting in me enough to allow me to show her how good it can be to let go.
I brush my fingers across her lips again, wanting so badly to take them with another kiss.
But not until she answers me.
Not until she tells me with words what she really wants.
“Tell me, Bishop. Can I?”
She tries to hide behind this impenetrable wall she puts up around herself, around her heart, but I see it there—the need, the desire. To be touched. To be loved. To be seen and know she’s more than just her job.
It matches my own.
She’s just too afraid to admit it.
Too afraid to give in to the attraction that’s been sparking between us since the moment she pinned me to that floor. Too afraid that everything I’ve told her might be true.
