My hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, and I feel the hard muscle beneath the fabric, the coiled strength he's holding back.
And then I feel it—that hard length of him pressed against my belly. I freeze, my mouth stilling on his. I’d seen the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, but feeling it is completely different.
He's rock hard.
My eyes open.
He’s watching me, his eyes glittering with hunger. I can see it all there: how badly he wants me and how tightly he’s reining it in. His body is screaming for mine.
But his hands don't move.
Not to grab my waist, not to hold on to my hips, not to pull me closer or claim me or take control. He stands here with his fists clenched so tight I can see the white of his knuckles, his entire body rigid with restraint, letting me do whatever I want. He's not touching me even though I'm touching him. Even though I'm kissing him. Even though he's hard and wanting and I can feel how much it's costing him to hold back.
I blink up at him. Does he know what a gift this is? He's giving me agency. Choice. Power. After everything that was taken from me, he's handing it all back.
I pull back just enough to see him clearly.
His eyes are dark and wild and locked on mine. His chest is heaving. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. “Lily.”
My name comes out rough and wrecked, and I feel the sound of it in my bones, between my legs, everywhere.
I don't know what to say. I don't have words for this. For the way my body is humming with sensation and power and something I haven't felt in over a decade.
Desire.
Not the kind that's forced or stolen. The kind that's chosen. The kind that makes me feel alive instead of hunted. It makes me feel like more than a survivor.
I feel like myself.
38
MASON
I'm going to lose it.
Her hands are on me, her mouth is soft and warm andclaiming me, and every rule I've built my entire life around is burning to ash.
I want to pin her against the wall.
I want to drop to my knees and bury my face in her pussy until she's sobbing my name.
I want to strip her bare and taste every inch of her skin.
I want to mark her so thoroughly that no one will ever doubt that she’s mine—a visual warning that I'll burn the world down before I let anyone take her again.
The restraint is killing me. It's a physical thing, a rope pulled so tight around my chest I can barely breathe, and she's standing there looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters, and I'm about two seconds away from shattering every promise I made to myself about keeping my hands to myself.
I want her like I want air. Like I want to live.
39
LILY
Mason pulls back.
Not slowly. Not gently. He steps away from me like I've burned him, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle working. His breathing is ragged. His eyes are dark and dangerous andhungry.
“I need to go,” he says.
