Page 108 of Reckless

Maybe it’s both.

He kisses me again, slower this time, his forehead resting briefly against mine as though he needs the reminder that I’m here, real, and standing in front of him instead of becoming another photograph on somebody else’s damn phone.

His hands slide to my waist, and I kiss him harder. He answers immediately, backing me a few steps to the edge of the table until my hips bump against the timber. The dull thud echoes through the apartment, but neither of us pays it any attention.

His hands hold me with just enough pressure that I can still feel the argument living between us, not in anger anymore, but in the desperate need to make sure the other one is really here.

His mouth leaves mine, trailing across my cheek before finding the curve of my jaw.

The breath I draw in shudders all the way through me.

A low sound vibrates in his chest against my skin, somewhere between my name and a groan, and I close my eyes, my fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his neck. “Say it,” I whisper, my lips brushing his temple. “Whatever you’re still holding onto.”

He goes still for a heartbeat, then he exhales against my skin. “I don’t want to lose you to your own stubbornness.”

A watery laugh escapes me before I can stop it, equal parts relief and disbelief. “You picked a terrible woman to fall for.”

The corner of his mouth brushes my throat. “Tell me about it.”

I smile despite the tears still clinging to my lashes, my forehead falling against his. “So you are falling for me?” I tease.

He pulls back, his eyes searching mine, his fingers still gently caressing the side of my face. “I have been since the first time you obnoxiously sat down at my desk and wouldn’t leave me alone.”

A stifled laugh slips out of me. “It was the jerky, wasn’t it?”

He smiles. This time it lights up his face completely, and it steals the breath right out of me. “Shut up and kiss me, woman.”

I don’t have the chance to answer. His hand slides around the back of my neck, and he’s kissing me before another word can exist between us. Hard and hungry, like every second we’ve spent pretending this wasn’t happening has finally come due.

I kiss him back just as desperately, my fingers curling into his shirt, holding on as everything inside me gives way. The fear, anger, the ache of almost losing whatever this is before we’d even let ourselves admit it.

We stumble back into the coffee table, and he grips my hip to steady me before it can knock into the back of my knees.

“Watch the table,” he mutters against my mouth.

“You watch the table!”

He huffs a laugh and turns us instead, walking me back toward the sofa. His hands find the hem of my shirt, dragging it up slowly this time despite everything else about him being anything but slow right now. And when it’s gone, he looks at me for a second, chest rising and falling hard, like he’s reassessing.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” His hand comes up, tracing along my collarbone, down over the curve of my breast, unhurried despite the storm sitting behind his eyes. “Just looking.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Not at all, you’re too fucking beautiful for the likes of me.” His mouth follows where his hand just was, kissing along my collarbone, down over the swell of my breast, taking his time with it now, even though I can feel how hard he is against my hip, how badly he wants to stop taking his time.

I drag my fingers through his hair, and he groans low against my skin.

He backs me down onto the arm of the sofa, and I go, dragging him with me, but the angle is uncomfortable, my elbow catching a throw cushion and sending it clean off onto the floor.

Neither of us stops for it.

His mouth moves lower, over my stomach, until he drops to his knees in front of me. His fingers catch the waistband of my sleep shorts and slowly drag them down, but his eyes never leave mine. The question is right there in his gaze, silent but clear, even though we both already know my answer.

He kisses the inside of my knee first. Then higher, along my thigh, and I feel my body go tight with anticipation, my fingers curling into the sofa cushion beside me.

“Ghost.”