His bare chest rises under my hand. His green eyes hold mine, steady and dark, and suddenly the cabin feels smaller. The world feels smaller. Like there is only the space between his mouth and mine.
“You’re scared,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
I should say yes.
He is dangerous. Armed. Older. Bleeding in front of me like it’s nothing. A man with a leather cut, a bike, and brothers who know how to handle men like the ones who took me.
But fear is not what curls low in my stomach when he looks at me.
“No,” I whisper.
Something breaks in his expression.
Or maybe something gives in.
His hand rises to my cheek, slow enough that I could move away.
I don’t.
His palm cups my face like I am something precious, and that is the thing that undoes me.
Ace leans in.
The kiss is gentle at first.
So gentle it hurts.
His mouth touches mine like he is asking a question. Like he is giving me every chance to say no. But I have spent the whole night being dragged, ordered, shoved, threatened.
This choice is mine.
So I kiss him back.
Ace makes a low sound in his chest, and the kiss changes.
Still careful, but deeper now. Warmer.
His good hand slides to the side of my neck, thumb brushing just under my jaw, and I feel it everywhere.
My knees weaken.
I grip his arm, then remember the wound and jerk back. “Sorry.”
He pulls back too, breathing harder.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
Then he closes them, jaw flexing.
“Damn it.”
My stomach dips. “What?”
