“Carrson.”
My name isn’t a word. It’s a plea.
She rises onto her toes, brings her face closer to mine. I squeeze her hand, instinct locking in before thought has a chance to intervene. Her face tilts toward mine, eyes closing, lips parting slightly.
I let go.
My head drops, drawn down as if it’s inevitable, as if there was never another outcome. My mouth hovers at her throat, close enough that the heat of her skin warms my lips without quite touching.
Her pulse beats there, fast and unsteady, under the surface.
She smells soft. Floral. Warm.
Wrong.
This is so wrong.
I do it anyway.
My lips brush her skin.
Barely. Enough to feel her. Taste her.
A small, quiet gasp slips from her. She wasn’t expecting that, neither of us were, and the reaction hits me hard, pulling, demanding before I can stop it. I grab her waist, dragging her closer, closing that last inch of space until her body aligns with mine.
My teeth press lightly against her throat, not to hurt, just for her skin to give under the pressure. She lets out a small, helpless moan.
My cock stiffens against my jeans.
Fuck.
The thought comes too late. I’m already there. Already past where I should’ve stopped.
Her other hand lifts, hesitating for only a second before moving as if she’s about to touch me, to pull me closer instead of pushing me away. That’s what does it, the lack of hesitation, the way she leans into it instead of back, like she trusts me, like she doesn’t think I’ll—
I jerk away from her.
The space between us yawns open, cold, and abrupt, the loss of her a slap to the face. My chest rises in bursts as I try to get a handle on something that slipped too far, too fast.
What the hell am I doing?
She sways slightly. As if the break hit her just as hard. Her eyes open, unfocused, pupils dilated, and the sight of it lands somewhere deep and dangerous.
I drag my hand away from hers. Better to let go now.
“This is all you get,” I say.
I grab her hand again before she can bridge the distance I tore open, lifting it and spinning her once. Her hair flies out as she turns, catching the light, silk shifting over her body, clinging enough that I see—No.
I drop her hand immediately and step back, putting space between us where it belongs. Where I can breathe. Think. Pretend that didn’t happen.
I expect her to push, to ask for more.
Becky just smiles.
Like she’s already won.
Chapter twenty-five
