Page 71 of Smoke Signals

The fear is still there, familiar and heavy but something else is sitting beside it now.

Hope.

I turn toward him fully.

“You scare the hell out of me,” I admit.

He smiles softly. “Good.”

“Why’s that good?”

“Because it means you care.”

I laugh before I can help it.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

His hands slide around my waist and pull me closer. The kiss that follows is slower than earlier, deeper, full of everything we haven’t figured out how to say yet.

My fingers curl into his shirt.

“Let’s go inside,” he whispers against my mouth.

I nod.

He takes my hand and laces our fingers together, then guides me back through the front door and down the hallway. The house is quiet now. The kitchen lights are off, the only glow comes from a small lamp in the living room and the faint nightlight under Alaska’s door.

My pulse starts climbing again as we reach our room.

Stellan pushes the door closed behind us and turns the lock with a soft click.

For a second neither of us moves.

Then he steps closer, one hand sliding up my arm until his fingers curl behind my neck again.

“You’re still thinking too much,” he murmurs.

“Probably.”

“Let me fix that.”

He brushes his lips against mine again. The kiss starts soft but builds quickly, his tongue sliding against mine with a hunger that matches the heat pooling low in my gut. I pull back slightly, my hands gripping his shirt tighter. He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my chest as he presses closer, his body solid and reassuring against mine.

"Strip for me," he whispers, his eyes locked on mine with that intensity that always unravels me. I nod, my fingers fumbling with the hem of my shirt as I lift it over my head in one slow motion. Cool air hits my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and chest.

He watches every inch, his gaze tracing the lines of my body like he's memorizing it and I feel vulnerable in the best way, my heart pounding so loud I wonder if it echoes in the quiet house.

I kick off my shoes next, then unbutton my jeans and shove them down along with my boxers. I step out of them until I stand naked before him, my cock already half-hard from the anticipation, twitching under his stare. He doesn't rush; instead he reaches out, his fingers trailing down my chest, over my stomach, stopping just short of where I ache for him. I bite my lip to stifle a whine, the need building sharp and insistent inside me.

Stellan sheds his clothes with more confidence, his shirt coming off to reveal the lean muscles of his torso, then his pants and underwear follow, pooling at his feet. His cock springs free, thick and curving slightly, already leaking at the tip. I swallow hard, my mouth watering at the sight.

He steps forward and guides me backward toward the bed, gentle hands on my hips. The mattress dips under my weight as I sit, then lie back, the sheets cool against my heated skin. He follows, kneeling between my legs, his hands pushing my thighs apart, exposing me completely.

"God, Hartley," he murmurs, his breath hot against my inner thigh, "you look so fucking good like this; I want to taste every part of you."

His words send a shiver through me and I nod, spreading my legs further. My mind races with the thought that this feels right, that he's the only one who's ever made me feel this seen—this wanted without reservation.

He starts slow, his lips pressing kisses along my thigh, up to the crease where leg meets hip, his tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin there.