There it is. That small, live spark beneath all the weight. That specific frequency that has always existed between us.
“You always did love telling me what to do,” he says.
I lift a brow. “You always needed it.”
His lips curve. That particular smile that starts at one corner and takes its time to get anywhere.
I watch it move across his mouth.
Bad idea.
The air shifts with it. Just enough that my body registers the change before my brain has finished processing it. That crackling warmth has no off switch where he is concerned and I apparently have no shame about advertising the fact.
His gaze drops to my bare legs.
The room goes still as if holding its breath.
I should not want him again. Not after the conversation we just had about old danger and all the things still unresolved and waiting between us. But wanting Zane has never once waited politely for the right conditions.
He sets his empty mug on the dresser and turns back to me.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
My pulse jumps. “You are not doing anything.”
“Not yet.”
I look up at him. “And if I do not tell you to stop?”
His eyes darken. “Then I am going to kiss you until you stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what.”
“Like you are remembering what my mouth can do.”
Absolute asshole.
He’s a beautiful, dangerous, and honest asshole with excellent recall and no sense of appropriate timing.
“You are very full of yourself for a man who nearly had an emotional breakthrough ten seconds ago.”
His mouth curves. “And a very specific interest in what you’re wearing under my shirt.”
His mouth takes mine in a kiss that starts hard and turns filthy fast, as if the conversation had not cooled anything between us. It fed it.
I grab him and pull him closer.
He groans into my mouth.
The sound goes straight through me and lands somewhere beyond reason.
His knee comes onto the bed, followed by the other, and suddenly he is over me again, all heat and muscle and morning light. His jeans are rough against my bare thighs, making it very hard to remember why slowing down is even an option.
I drag my nails down his back and he breaks the kiss to curse against my mouth.
I bite his lower lip, causing his whole body to tighten at once. That full-body response that tells me everything about what I do to him and absolutely nothing about how to be sensible about it.
For a second, the bad boy grin slips entirely. What lies beneath it is hunger.
