Page 100 of Nyx

"I'm so sorry you're having to spend so much time with me," she says as she turns around to face me.

The apology seems rehearsed, as if she has spent a lifetime trying to be small, to take up as little space as possible and go unnoticed.

I don't know if it's from the way she's been living her life since the attack or from something left over from her relationship with Whitmore.

I hate the words, hate the way her shoulders droop as she looks up at me.

"It's not a bother," I assure her, taking a few steps closer when she drops her eyes from mine.

I want to tell her everything. I want her to know that Whitmore is in the wind, that we have no idea where he is, but by the way she was looking at the fucking bag when I came back into the room, I know what her reaction would be. We can't keep her safe if she runs, and if she knew what I know, she'd be gone in the blink of an eye.

I take another step closer, pulling her eyes up. They lock on my lips, and it's not the first time I've caught her looking at them.

"We'll keep you safe," I vow, speaking the words slowly so she keeps her eyes on my mouth.

A thrill of something I have no right to consider in this moment runs up my spine.

Her eyes lift to mine, something in them making me think she's seeing me for the first time. She's not afraid of me, not leery of what a man like me could do to her.

She doesn't know me, doesn't know what I'm capable of, and if she did, she'd run faster and further from me than she ever did from Whitmore.

She called me by my club name for the first time today, and that made me feel a hundred feet tall.

The way she's looking at me right now makes me wish I was on my knees, worshipping her in ways she never could've imagined.

The idea of what I'll never get the chance to do with this woman makes my tongue skate out, running over my lower lip. Her eyes lock on the movement, her own lips opening a fraction as if her head is exactly where mine is.

I'm no stranger to a woman's appeal, despite the don't-fuck-with-me attitude that seems to saturate every movement.

I can see exactly what she's thinking, and as much as I want what she thinks she wants, I know in some of the deepest parts that it just can't happen.

But then her eyes shift to mine for the briefest of seconds before once again dropping to my mouth.

She moves closer, and I lock into place, watching her every move.

I notice the way her hair brushes her cheek, the way her mouth opens slightly more, and the way her cheeks flush with the prettiest pink I've ever seen.

Then her fingers are tangling in the fabric of my shirt, the slightest tug of her hand drawing me closer as if she controls every movement of my body.

When she lifts her face a few inches, I drop mine just as low.

The warmth of her breath on my lips is my undoing.

The press of her lips to mine is an explosion of need.

The slickness of her tongue across my lower lip is the best thing that has ever happened to me in all my years on this earth.

Every excuse, every reason I shouldn't be doing this, is silenced.

That voice that accompanies me with every step and every action is muted.

The only thing that exists in this moment is her lips on mine, her tongue vying for entrance, and my acceptance of the request.

Electricity races up and down my spine, my body responding in every way it can.

The heat of her kiss wraps itself around me, cocooning me as if she's touching every inch of my body.

My heart races, my blood pumping loudly in my ears, and my cock thickens so rapidly that the arousal hits with a hint of pain.