Page 29 of The Reckless Rookie

I kiss him, and this time I set the pace.

His first instinct is still more. More pressure. More mouth. More Finn. I pull back, and he catches himself before I have to say anything.

“Half a second.”

He breathes out through his nose, then waits.

I move first. His hand follows the curve of my waist, half a second later, and heat moves through me so fast I almost resent him for noticing.

His mouth tips at one corner. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of him. I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head.

His skin is warm from the day, chest still damp, a bruise fading yellow along his ribs and another near his shoulder. I run my palm over his stomach, and his muscles jump. I do it again.

“Shit.”

“Sensitive?”

“No.”

“Convincing.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

He reaches for my shirt, too quick, and I catch his wrist. His jaw tightens.

“Catalina.”

“You’ll live.”

“That remains extremely unclear.”

I lift my arms, and he pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it somewhere behind him. Then he looks at me. Really looks until the humor leaves his face.

His gaze drops, but it doesn’t stay there. It comes back to my eyes, and something about that makes me more aware of my body than staring ever could. Cool air over hot skin. My pulse at my throat. The whole weight of his attention.

He reaches for me, stops himself, and waits. God. I take his hand and put it on my waist. His thumb moves once across my skin and my stomach tightens, and he notices, and for once he doesn’t make a joke.

His hand moves higher, slowly, and when his thumb brushes beneath my breast my breath catches.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“That was me.”

“I know.” His forehead comes down against mine. “That’s why I said it.”

I laugh, and his mouth takes the sound from me.