Before I drop it, I slip the glass of water back onto the counter. With as close as he is and the way he is touching me, I’m slowly coming unraveled again.
That doesn’t even seem possible.
I’ve never been with a man who’s good for more than once.
But through the towel, I feel his erection pressing against me.
He slides a hand along my hip, not greedy. Not insistent.
Just…there.
“I told myself I’d take it slow tonight.” His murmur shoots little thrills through me. “Let you rest. I’m sure you need it.”
He’s right, but this feels so much more important.
Xavier lifts his head, just enough to look at me. His eyes are hooded, dark, but clear. Controlled. He’s giving me the same thing he gave me earlier—space. Choice.
And maybe that’s why my heart won’t stop hammering.
“But?” I whisper.
“But you’re standing here, flushed and barefoot, in that damn shirt with no bra.” His voice has turned hoarse with desire. “And I’m dangerously close to forgetting all my promises.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe I don’t want you to keep them.”
He goes very still. “You really are okay?”
“A little tender, I admit. But nothing that would stop me.”
“You’re sure?” There’s a flicker of something wild and hungry in his eyes.
“I want you to make love to me, Xavier.” I press up onto my toes and kiss him.
There’s nothing careful about it. Nothing coy. I kiss him like I need him to forget every rule he’s set for himself. Like I need to forget every reason I should walk away.
He answers with a low growl, one hand sliding under the hem of my T-shirt to find the bare skin of my lower back.
Gently he pulls back and brings me in closer. “I’ve never wanted anything as bad as I want you.”
Then he takes over, kissing me again, even deeper. My body lights up like a struck match. There’s no pretending now. No distance, no space between us. Just heat and silk and skin, his towel already shifting.
“I need…” I start, but I don’t finish.
Because his hands are already there. Sliding beneath the cotton. Peeling the shirt over my head with excruciating care.
I let it fall to the floor.
He looks at me like I’m some miracle he doesn’t deserve. Like the world could end in this moment and he’d die satisfied.
“Seraphina.”
My name sounds like worship.
I don’t know who moves first—maybe we move at the same time—but somehow we’re stumbling toward the bedroom. The towel swooshes to the floor, and neither of us cares.
His gaze never leaving mine, he backs me toward the bed. Then he captures me, sits down, and pulls me gently to stand between his legs.
“I told you I want you to forget your promises.”
