“Kara.”
“I’m scared. I’m confused. I’m probably going to cry again before the day is over.”
“That’s allowed.”
“I know.” I step closer. “But I am not calling her. And I am not letting her decide what this is.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, then returns to my eyes.
“What is this?” he asks.
“I do not have a clean name for it yet. Not after everything that has happened today. But I know what it is not. It is not Vanessa’s to define.”
Cole does not move for a long second. Then he reaches past me, picks up the phone, turns it off completely, and sets it back on the bed.
When his hand comes back to my face, I am still here. And this time, I meet him halfway.
Chapter 17
Cole
Her mouth is the best kind of wrong. She tastes like salty tears and the last trace of fear she hasn’t quite shaken. I sweep my tongue in her mouth knowing this is a want we both haven’t let ourselves name until now.
Our movements turn quick, urgent. Kara presses against me, fingers digging into my shirt, and with every second we kiss, I remember less about why restraint ever seemed like a good idea.
I pin her gently to the wall because I cannot help it, because the line between protection and possession has blurred, and I am not sure I want it back. She gasps into my mouth, and I swallow the sound. My hand moves from her cheek to her jaw, then down the column of her neck, my thumb tracing the tense line of her throat as her body arches toward mine.
There are a hundred logical reasons to stop. I have used most of them already, but none survive contact with the heat rolling off her.
Kara pulls back just far enough for her voice to slip between us, ragged and soft.
“Is this a terrible idea?” she whispers.
“Maybe.” I kiss her again, slower this time, more deliberate. If I am going to burn my life down, I want to feel every second of it.
One of her hands finds the hem of my T-shirt and slides beneath it, her palm hot and trembling against my skin. She is bolder than I expected, less fragile than I ever let myself believe. She pushes the shirt over my stomach, and I raise my arms because I want her to want me as much as I want her.
The cotton catches on my chin. I drag it the rest of the way off and toss it aside. She makes a sound that is half laugh, half moan, then leans in to kiss my chest, her breath warming skin that has not mattered to anyone in a long time.
Her hair brushes my sternum, and the tenderness of it nearly undoes me.
“You do not have to be gentle,” she says, and the words are a dare.
So I stop being gentle. I lift her with my hands beneath her ass, and she wraps her legs around my waist. Her mouth finds my jaw, then my throat, teeth and lips and tongue moving as if she means to memorize me. I brace her against the wall, and for one reckless minute there is no safe house, no threat, no future beyond the one blowing open between us.
Kara tugs at the waistband of my pants, and a low laugh breaks out of me, half disbelieving, half feral.
“You sure?” I ask, because I have to. It is the last outpost of discipline reminding me that checking is still my job.
“I am sure.” Her eyes flash. “Stop making me say it.”
I dig my fingers into the back of her thigh, feel her shiver, and carry her to the bed. Her hands are already working at my belt. I don’t stop her. I want to see what she does when she gets exactly what she wants.
She gets it. She gets me. Kara works quickly, unfastening and tugging until I am half out of my mind and completely out of self-control. She pushes my pants down, her hands needy. I’m so hard it almost hurts when she frees me.
I don’t know whether it is her urgency or the way she looks at me, hair wild and cheeks flushed, that makes something inside me snap. I pin her wrists over her head and kiss her until she whimpers. Then I drag her tank top upward, baring pale skin and a beige lace bra that almost disappears against her.
Kara arches as I mouth the line of her ribs and the swell of her breast. Her nipples tighten beneath the lace, and I tease one gently with my teeth just to feel her squirm. She makes a needy sound when I slide my hand between her thighs. Her hips grind up, desperate, and I keep my other hand flat on her belly, pinning her with nothing but my weight.
