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His hand slips from my throat, dipping into the neckline of my coat, pushing downward, forcing the zipper open. I arch into his touch, riding the dangerous edge of desperation, welcoming it.
He sets a demanding pace, turning our kisses from languid to nuclear. His tongue slides through my mouth, hot and hungry. His teeth scrape with urgency, sharp and full of warning. His palm flattens against the skin between my breasts, a wordless order to comply.
For the first time since I can remember, a spark of desire flares between my legs. My nipples harden. My pussy thrums. My body comes alive, every pocket of female hunger awakening from hibernation. And God help me, he’s fanning the flames.
With his tongue and fingers stroking me, his ragged breaths intensify my need. I’m so wet I want to cry. So achy and empty that I squirm and moan as his hand stretches across my chest and gives my nipple a hard, possessive tug.
My gasp isn’t a complaint. It’s a full-body cleansing as my senses overflow with the dark, delicious taste of him, the pivotal tremble of new beginnings, and the soft, glimmering sound of snow.
Wait. What?
With my neck craned backward beneath his onslaught, I open my eyes.
Sparkly, weightless, sound-absorbing diamonds fall from the darkening sky, catching light where none exists and turning the world opalescent.
“Leo.” I grip his forearm. “It’s snowing.”
Grunting, he pinches my nipple and kisses me harder.
Just as well. I’m so shaken by the crystalline beauty, so utterly gobsmacked that a hot tear slides down my face. With Leo’s lips devouring mine and his fingers strumming my breast, the snow feels symbolic somehow. Like a sign.
A sign of what? I don’t know. All I know is he’s wickedly good at this. His mouth, his hands, the deep, rumbly sounds in his chest—he knows how to pull a woman out of her head and thrust her into the moment. Each rubbing slide of his tongue cracks open something so dark and wanton inside me it scares me to my marrow.
This is wrong. This is wrong.
This man needs therapy, not another toxic relationship. My head is too messy. I’m here against my will. Not here in his arms, but here in this place.
Not to mention, two days ago, my heart belonged to someone else.
But my soul? No, Monty never owned my soul.
I don’t believe in soul mates.
Gulping air, I pull back, wrecked and spinning with eight tons of shame coursing through my veins.
Leo glares down his nose, his eyes darting between mine.
What is that sound?
“Are you growling at me?”
“You’re protecting him.” His jaw hardens, clicking and grinding. “Still loyal after what he did?”
“No, that’s not—”
“He doesn’t deserve a single drop of your loyalty. He deserves your wrath. Your vengeance. Get back at him. Hurt him the way he hurt you.”
“You’re right. I don’t owe him anything. But I won’t use you in the process. I can’t. I’m not built for that.”
“You can’t use me if I’m here for it. Give it to me. Give me everything.”
I’m already shaking my head. “I don’t know what that means. What are you asking?”
He spins me around and pulls me to stand until I’m pressed against him, chest-to-chest. “It means I want you. Forever.”
“What?” I heave with all my strength, fighting against a boulder of muscle and aggression. “Forever? Have you lost your mind?”
“Sometimes, forever is the length of a breath.” He steals mine, kissing and sucking, as his hand immobilizes my jaw. “As good as you taste, I may not last a full breath.”
Oh, lord. The air between us hums so intensely I have to break away. But he chases my gaze until our eyes latch and lock. His are so dark and deep and swirly, so unnatural and dangerous, they pull me into his rabbit hole and swallow me whole.
“Scared?” he asks in a gravelly whisper.
“You wish,” I whisper back, hiding my fears behind clenched teeth.
I’m terrified, shaking on the verge of an ugly cry. Gravity pushes me toward the ground, but his immovable arms hold me right where he wants me. Tight against the thunderbeat of his heart. Wrapped in his labored breaths.
The sounds of a man who wants me.
Monty moved on. He didn’t save me. He doesn’t want me. He’ll never kiss me again.
That doesn’t mean I should stop living. I can save myself. Find my smile. Kiss who I want.
“Give it to me.” He nips at my jaw. “Whatever you offer, I will treasure it.”
Affection between consenting adults. Comfort between survivors on the same side. A moment of happiness. An exchange of breaths. Maybe more. I can do that.
Letting the corners of my mouth curve upward—a trembling motion—I rise on tiptoes and press my tenuous smile to Leo’s lips.
“Just remember. You begged for this.” Then I kiss him with every jagged, fucked-up emotion inside me.
