The word lands somewhere in my chest and takes root. I pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him harder, and my hands find the hem of his shirt. The fabric bunches as I push it up, and my fingers finally touch bare skin. He sucks in a sharp breath.
His skin is hot and smooth, with firm ridges of muscle beneath it. I trace the lines of his abdomen, feeling the way he tenses under my touch, ad the way his breath stutters when my nails scrape lightly over his ribs.
“Isadora.” His voice is wrecked. “If you keep doing that?—”
“What?”
“I’m going to lose what little control I have left.”
“Maybe I want you to lose control.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. The red flames in his eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them, and there’s something almost wild in his expression.
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what I am?”
“Yes.”
“And you still?—”
I reach up and cup his face in my hands. “I know exactly what you are, Mal. I’ve known since the moment you walked into mystudio and turned everything upside down.” My thumbs trace his cheekbones. “You’re chaos. You’re impossible. You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not exactly?—”
“You’re also kind,” I continue. “And patient. And you stayed. When I asked for help, you stayed.” My voice cracks slightly. “Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how many people in my life have left the moment things got difficult?”
“Isadora—”
“I don’t care what you are. I care who you are. And who you are is someone I—” I stop, the words catching in my throat. “Someone I trust.”
For a long moment, he just looks at me. Then something shifts in his expression, so vulnerable it makes my heart ache.
Then he kisses me again. This time, it’s different. Softer. Slower. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my mouth, the taste of my lips. His hands cradle my face with a tenderness that makes my eyes sting.
“You destroy me,” he whispers. “Do you know that? Every time I think I have my footing, you say something like that and I—” He breaks off, pressing his forehead to mine. “I don’t deserve you.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“Isadora—”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He laughs against my lips. “Bossy.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” Another kiss, deeper. “I really, really do.”
His hands slide down to my thighs, and suddenly I’m being lifted, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The new position brings us impossibly closer, and I can feel all of him now—the hard planes of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart, the thick ridge of his cock pressing against my core.
I rock against him without thinking, and we both groan.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Good.”
