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His fingers squeeze around mine, pulling me out of my confused thoughts and urging me to focus on him. “Tell me.”
Taking a deep breath, I look away, unable to meet his eyes as I admit, “I saw the red stain on your shirt and thought you were with another girl…”
“Another girl?” he repeats, baffled.
When I still refuse to look at him, he cups my cheek and turns my face to him. “What other girl? There are no others.”
Our eyes clash and my lungs freeze, refusing to take in air as he says, “They don’t exist. I see you and only you.”
Squeezing my fingers again, he leans forward and brushes his lips against mine.
It’s the softest of touches, an affirmation of his promise, his devotion, but it feels like a spark ignites where we meet.
A surge of something close to electricity sizzles through me, and he jerks back, his eyes wide as if he felt the same thing.
We stare at each other in shock.
I knew kissing him would be amazing, but I never expected it to feel like this…
Is it supposed to feel this good?
I lick my lips subconsciously, trying to recreate the sensation, and his lids lower, hooding his eyes.
The way he’s looking at me now fills me with a mixture of fear and giddiness.
I want him to kiss me again but I’m afraid of it. I’m terrified of how good it felt and losing myself in him…
As if he can read my thoughts, his expression suddenly softens with tenderness.
He grabs me, causing my heart to jump into my throat, and pulls me close.
Crushing me against his chest.
His arms wrap around me in an embrace that’s so tight it’s nearly suffocating.
My cheek pressing against his pec, I can hear his heart thundering.
And my mind races.
Everything is going to change now… I can feel it in my bones.
For good or ill.
How can I ever look at him again and not remember the spark he ignited? How can I not wonder where it should lead to?
Does something even better come next?
Palm pressing into my spine, he holds me like I’m the only thing on this earth keeping him grounded.
His own thoughts no doubt going in another direction.
The smell of him washes over me. He smells like crisp rain with a sharp hint of something acidic.
Something I’ve only smelled on my father and the other men.
Gunpowder.
He’s made his bones with the family, as they like to say, and there’s no going back.
