Page 72 of A Taste of Vanilla

That I have a choice in this.

I make a sound into his mouth, and he freezes for half a heartbeat. Then, his grip tightens.

The kiss deepens.

His tongue strokes mine, and my entire body wakes up like someone flipped every breaker in the building. Heat blooms low in my stomach, sharp and sudden. I push up onto my toes, fisting one hand in the front of his henley and the other in the hair at the nape of his neck where his bun has started to loosen.

He makes a low sound. Barely there. But I feel it.

Victory blooms in my chest.

I do it again.

His mouth leaves mine, his hand at my jaw. He’s breathing through his nose when he says, “Careful.”

I blink up at him. “Of what?”

His blue eyes are dark. “Of me.”

The word rolls down my spine and settles between my thighs.

“I’m not fragile.”

“I know.”

“Then stop treating me like I am.”

His thumb moves along my jaw. “I’m treating you like you matter.”

His words strike me in the heart.

I kiss him this time. Harder and messier.

A little desperate, because if I think about what he said for too long, I will start to cry, and that’s the last thing I want to do when I have a man in my shitty apartment. A man whose name I don’t even know. I can’t cry. Not with his hand at my waist and his mouth opening under mine and my body remembering thereare reasons to be alive that have nothing to do with surviving the day.

He lets me push him back one step. Then another, until his back meets the wall beside the window.

His body feels good. Too good.

This stranger, huge and controlled and quiet, pinned underneath my hands because I want him and because he’s letting me.

I drag my mouth from his and kiss his jaw. His beard scrapes my lips, and his hand flexes on my hip.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rough.

I pull back and glare at him. “Ask me that one more time and I’ll start charging you per question.”

His mouth twitches.

“Answer me.”

God. That should not work.

It absolutely works.

“Yes,” I say. “I’m sure I want this. I want you. I don’t want to talk about my ex. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to be careful for one night. I want to feel good, and I want you to be the one to make me feel good.”

He stares at me.