“Only for you,” I murmured as I kissed her, my tongue sliding slowly across the seam of her lips until she opened for me. I cradled the back of her neck, my thumb stroking the tendons along her throat so I could feel each flex and stretch. Amelia softened in my arms, melting into me as she tentatively met me in the dance. The cool mint from both of us brushing our teeth soothed the heat of the kiss.
Her little whimpers were my undoing, along with the way her brows creased in the middle, like she was concentrating on doing it just right.
“Stop being a perfectionist and just kiss me,” I muttered as I shoved her against the wall again, grabbed the back of her thighs, and hitched them up around my hips.
She gasped as I rocked between her legs, teasing her through the thin cotton of her panties. Thank God she hadn’t put on anything more than that T-shirt she’d been sleeping in.
“I don’t want to mess up,” she admitted so softly that I wasn’t sure she’d actually said it.
I paused then, bracing one arm under her ass so I could cradle the back of her head in my hand. “You can’t. Not with me. Every breath you take, every little sound. The way your hands feel when you’re exploring my body . . .” Our chests pressed together with each heavy breath. “You’re doing it right.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” I curled my fingers in her hair, giving the roots a firm pull, and watched as those pale blue eyes rolled back and closed. “You’re in charge right now. You call the shots. Take whatever you want. Use me.”
She met me then, kissing me just as hard as I had been kissing her. It was sloppy, messy, and so fucking good.
Good. She’d called me a good man.
“There you go,” I whispered between desperate kisses. “Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just has to be what makes you feel good.”
“You,” she choked out.
Fuck.
I sucked her lower lip between my teeth and?—
Voices echoed in the distance.
For a moment, I thought I’d made up the sound in my head, but Amelia’s eyes went wide as her attention snapped to the door. My heart pounded like a wrecking ball colliding against my rib cage.
Adrenaline and preparation took over before emotion could.
“Get in the cellar.” I gave the terse order quietly as I set her on the ground and rushed on silent feet to move the end table.
“It might just be hikers out exploring,” she said as she followed me.
The crunch of leaves outside might as well have been a gunshot. It was barely a glimpse, but I watched through the slight part in the curtains as a man circled the cabin. The hiking gear he was in was brand new.
“Maybe it’s the cops?” she whispered. “Or a park ranger?”
“Not a cop. Not wearing the right shoes.” I picked up the end table instead of shoving it so it wouldn’t make a sound. “Get in.”
“But what about you?” The tender question came out warbled.
“Get in,” I hissed.
Amelia scrambled to open the cellar door, climb down the ladder, and close it behind her. I had just set the table back on top of it when someone tried to open the door.
Thank God I had it barred.
Even if they picked the lock, it wouldn’t budge. They’d have to ram into it or burn it down.
Not that I would put that kind of attempt past anyone who worked for Valentine. He rewarded exceptional effort.
I grabbed one of the knives from the kitchen, stepped into a blind spot, and listened.
“Piece ’a shit truck,” the guy circling the house said as the tarp rustled outside the window. “Place is abandoned. Probably crawling with snakes.”
