Page 80 of Never the Same

He shut his eyes, and I thought he might retreat. Tell me to go fly a kite. Leave him alone and follow his rules.

Instead, he slowly turned his face into my hand, then flicked his tongue against my skin before sliding his lips across my palm in a kiss, lighting me up inside.

“Hollis,” he hissed as if saying my name pained him. “Please don’t ask me to set my mouth on yours.”

“Why not?” I asked in a shaky voice.

His nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed open. “Because I’m going to snap the second your mouth touches mine,” he nearly growled before brushing his lips over my palm again. “You saw what happened in the kitchen. You know what would’ve gone down had you thrown another pillow at me in your bed. You know I can’t . . .”

“Can’t what?” I needed to hear the words. That dream may have been implanted in my head, but it didn’t change the fact we did have chemistry now and before. My feelings were real. Soul—not skin—deep. “Reed?”

“Jason . . .” he said on a sigh. “You can call me that if you want to. Only for you.”

Only for you. That’d been his last text to me before I disappeared, and here we were, and he was giving a piece of himself to me.

“Jason,” I said around the knot of pressure pushing into my throat from my chest.

He leaned in, resting his forehead to mine. His guard was slipping. Willpower waning. “Yes?” he responded, voice ragged.

“Go ahead,” I whispered, “and snap.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Hollis

Jason tipped his head back until his eyes caught mine. The slow burn between us exploded in an instant.

He shoved his firearms aside, then gripped my hips and lifted me onto his bench.

Metal and gun oil bit at my thighs as I instinctively hooked my legs around him, dragging him closer until every hard line of his body pressed flush against mine.

Nose to neck, he inhaled me, his breath hot against my skin, the faint scent of gunpowder bleeding from him, sinking into me. “You smell so fucking good.”

His lips skimmed over my skin as his stubble scraped fire down my throat. One hand braced against the table, the other sliding up my side, probably leaving smudges of oil, branding me as his.

Every nerve sparked, my body strung so tight I might shatter, and he hadn’t even kissed me yet. I didn’t remember sex, but instinct whispered that no one had ever made me feel this way before.

“Oil and vinegar,” he ground out, like that was his last-ditch effort to remind us this was a mistake.

“If anyone can make those two mix”—I clutched his arms for balance—“it’s us.”

His answer was a curse against my mouth, swallowed by the hungry crash of his lips over mine.

His kiss was rough, almost punishing at first, until it softened into something desperate.

My back arched as his tongue found mine. His hand swept into my hair, and he fisted it while drawing his other around my throat as he’d done in the kitchen. This time not to hold me, but to find my pulse, as if needing proof I was real. That this was really happening.

He deepened our kiss, and the rumble of his groan vibrated through me. Every stroke of his tongue and his touch pulled me apart piece by piece.

He destroyed me a moment later by tearing his mouth from mine. “This isn’t right.”

“No, it’s—”

“No, I mean, it’s too fast.” His hands framed my face as his gaze pierced mine, raw and unguarded. “It’s been . . . years for me.”

Years? How long has it been for me? I really hated I didn’t know the answer to that.

“I’m not supposed to . . .” He let his voice trail off, kissing me instead, gentler this time, unraveling me even more than before.