His jaw tightens as he studies me.
“You should be resting,” he murmurs, but the words lack conviction.
“I’ve rested enough.” My fingers slide lightly into his hair at the nape of his neck.
The conflict in his eyes burns bright now, desire colliding with the restraint he’s leaning on to keep himself from turning us and backing me up against the wall instead.
“You were shot two weeks ago,” he says quietly.
“And you almost lost me,” I reply just as softly. “Let me remind you that I’m still here.”
His expression fractures at that. For a moment, he simply looks at me like he’s trying to memorize every detail, the color in my face, the steadiness of my breathing, the fact that I’m standing in front of him at all.
His hand comes up slowly, almost cautiously, to rest against my face. His other hand brushes just barely against my side, careful to avoid the place where the bandages lie beneath the thin fabric.
“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice rough.
I nod.
He searches my face one last time, as if looking for any slight sign of hesitation. Finding none, his restraint finally gives way. Very gently, he bends and slides one arm beneath my knees, the other around my back. A small gasp escapes me as he lifts me effortlessly into his arms.
“Reckless woman,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite to it.
I rest my forehead against his shoulder as he carries me back to his room. When he lays me down on the mattress after sealing us safely inside, he doesn’t pull away immediately. His hand lingers at my jaw, thumb brushing softly across my lower lip.
For a long moment, we simply look at one another. Then he leans down and presses his forehead to mine.
“I’m so sorry.” The words are so quiet, I almost miss them.
I thread my fingers through his hair again. “Don’t. Not tonight.”
He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes. Then he nods once and straightens enough to shrug out of his shirt. When he kisses me, it isn’t with the same desperation I’m used to from all the other times we’ve collided. This reverence feels more like a promise of devotion rather than a claim of ownership. His hand cradles the side of my face while the other braces carefully beside my head, making sure not to jar my injury when he settles himself between my legs.
Every movement is protective, as though I’m something fragile he refuses to break again. When I’m finally naked beneath him, he sheds the rest of his own clothes until there’s nothing left between us. He keeps most of his weight on his forearms, careful of my injury.
The head of his cock presses gently against my entrance. He holds himself there, barely breaching me, letting me feel the heat of him. His forehead drops to mine again, his breathing more ragged than before, like he’s fighting every instinct that wants to thrust in hard and claim me.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.
I lift my hips the smallest amount, just enough to take the very tip of him inside me. The stretch is slow, but it still steals my breath. Not from any kind of pain, but from the tenderness of it. From the way he freezes the instant I gasp.
“I’m okay,” I breathe out slowly. “Keep going. Please.”
He exhales against my mouth and sinks in another careful inch. When he’s finally seated fully inside me, deep enough that I can feel him stretching my walls perfectly, he stops again. His arms tremble from holding himself so rigidly above me. His eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched like the effort of not moving is physically painful.
“Look at me,” I say.
His lashes lift. The raw need in his gaze nearly undoes me.
“I love you,” I tell him.
His throat works. “I love you too. More than anything.”
Then he starts to move, so slow, it’s almost torture, long, careful rolls of his hips that drag his cock almost all the way out before sliding back in again. Each thrust feels like worship. He keeps his eyes on mine the entire time, watching for any flicker of discomfort, ready to stop the second I ask.
I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him down until his mouth finds mine again. The kiss is messy now, quiet moans swallowed between us with each brush of our tongues together. My hips rise up to meet his. The angle is so damn perfect, every careful glide of his cock hitting that sensitive spot inside me, making light burst behind my eyelids.
He groans low in his throat when I tighten around him. “Elena…”
