My breath catches.
“Problem is,” he says softly against my skin, “I’ve been wanting to do this since the second you walked into my bar.”
Heat rushes through me so fast it aches. I kiss him again before I can think of a response, unbuttoning my shirt. That finally snaps the last thread of restraint he has left.
His grip tightens on my waist as his massive hand trails upwards to cup my breast. I feel him shift beneath me, and the sudden friction pulls a soft sound from my throat that makes him groan into my mouth.
His thumb brushes my peaked nipple through my bra as I moan louder, arching against him.
Then he pulls back and I blink at him, dazed.
“No,” I protest. “Keep going.”
His voice is low and rough, like this is physically painful for him. His thumb strokes slowly across my hip. “If you keep sitting in my lap with your shirt open, looking at me like that, I’m going to forget how to stop.”
“Maybe I’m okay with that.”
His eyes darken and neither of us moves. Then he exhales sharply and presses one slow kiss to my forehead.
“Not in a truck behind my apartment building,” he says quietly. “Not the first time.”
The softness in his voice undoes me far more effectively than anything else. I rest my forehead against his shoulder for asecond, trying to get my breathing back under control. His hand strokes once down my spine.
He buttons my shirt back up slowly, fingers not quite steady. When he’s done, he kisses the base of my throat, then my mouth again, softer this time.
His hand lingers at my waist as he leads me upstairs. At the bedroom door, he pauses.
“Sleep,” he says.
“Where are you sleeping?”
“The couch.”
“Again?”
He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s gathering himself. “Bethany… I won’t survive that bed with you tonight.”
I step closer, close enough to catch his scent again, to feel the change in his breathing. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
Then he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine, a rough breath leaving him.
“I don’t want you to choose me because you’re in danger. Give it a little time and see how you feel when the heat is off. You’re my guest here, you’re not obliged to fuck me in return.”
Then he steps back and walks toward the bathroom before I can say anything.
I go to bed in his t-shirt, the smell of him wrapped around me.
Sleep takes a long time.
Chapter Seven
STRIKER
She comes down the steel staircase in jeans and a black leather jacket of mine over the silk shirt because I told her she'd freeze on the bike, despite the warm temperature today. Hair in a low loose braid with pieces escaping at her temples.
She walks toward me across the lot and the sunlight catches the gold of her hair.
“Stop. Walk back. Walk toward me again.”
