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“Showing up at gigs, here, waiting outside my car for me. Sending fucked up letters, calling me all the time.”
“Is that why you wanted me?”
He looks at me, the frown between his brows pinched deep. “Partly. But I also wanted you for you.”
I nod, considering. “Are you the reason she gave for attempting suicide?”
He shrugs, but his head falls into his hand and his fingers dig into his brow. I can see he’s bothered by this, by the idea of someone who was once in his life being so distraught at their parting that they would resort to ending it all. “I have no fucking clue what her reason was. Only that she’s unstable and clearly needs help.” Tiredly, he adds, “Help I can’t give.”
In this, I can agree. “No, you can’t.” I soften my voice as I study him, the pain in his eyes. “It’s not your place to help her either. That kind of dependency on someone isn’t—it’s not right. It’s not healthy. She needs help from someone outside of this. A professional.” When he doesn’t give me his eyes, I go on. “It’s not your fault, Cash.”
“I’m sorry, Wrenlee.”
He gives me his eyes when I demand, “For what?”
“For coming with drama. A past. Something—someone unpleasant.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. “You’re on your way to being a famous musician. I best get used to drama if I’m going to stay your woman.”
“Not if.” The way he says it with so much passion, I have to fight a shiver. “You are my woman. The only one I want now and the only one I’ll ever want.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can. I do.”
“Cash.”
“Wrenlee, I’m serious. I’m serious about this, about us. I’ve never felt this way and I know I’ll never feel this way again.” He swallows hard, spearing a hand through his hair. “I’ve been with enough people to know when wrong feels wrong and right is right. For me, you are right.”
My heart slides down into my belly before bobbing back up into my throat. He makes me feel so much, all the time. This man is intense. Like flame and ice. They both burn, eventually. I wonder how long it’ll take for him to incinerate me.
Because he seems to need it, I slide my hand to his thigh and tell him, “I love you, Cash. I love you now like I’ll love you forever, no matter what happens.”
His eyes shutter closed as he absorbs my words into the deep of him, and I lean over to press a kiss to his jaw. Disturbed by my movement, Saint stands and trots off. It’s a good thing, because Cash doesn’t let the kiss be just that.
Before I know it, I’m flat on the bed and Cash’s hand is under my sweater, palming a breast. He’s kissing me like he’s trying to climb inside me, to file the rough edges of his soul smooth against the polished stone of mine. I open to him, letting the walls and uncertainties crumble, letting him in. I want to be all that he needs. I want to let him use me however he needs me, because since I came to be in Cash’s life, I’vealways been the one in need. Always taking. Never giving. Today, right now, I get to be the giver.
I want to give him everything. All of me.
He tastes like coffee and sin and cinnamon andhim. I let him take the lead, let him strip me bare, with rough hands he’s tempered just for me. Still, I can feel the tremble of restraint as he pushes me back on the bed, spreading my legs and taking me in.
I don’t want him to hold back today. I don’t want him to refrain from touching the wilder, animalistic side that rages beneath his skin. I want all of him. Untethered, unbound from the shackles he’s closed around himself.
Sitting up, I kiss him with rough passion, earning a deliciously thrilling growl that vibrates deep within me.
My voice sounds low and husky, “Don't be gentle with me. Take what you want, however you want it.” I wet my lips, anticipation trembling inside me. “I want you to use me thoroughly and roughly.”
His entire body stiffens. He's like stone. Hard. Impossibly hard. His eyes are like black granite ignited by the moon. His soul is like the moon—bursting light draped in shadow, shrouded in inky night.
He doesn't even blink, not for a solid minute. The only thing that moves inside him, the only visible piece of him that has not been turned to stone is the flutter of his pulse in hisneck. It quickens as he absorbs my words and then his eyes drift closed, and he shakes his head.
“Kitten,” it's a strangled protest I refuse to accept.
Pressing my palms into his chest, I climb to my knees. He's still so much bigger than me like this, towering over me. He’s so big, every part of him could fold around every part of me and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life. I wouldn't complain.
I think maybe I'd even like it—to be his prisoner—to accept the cage of his arms. There must be something wrong with me. I've read too many dark romances. Maybe they've twisted a piece of me beyond repair. Either way, I think he needs this. Me. My complete surrender to him.
I think maybe I was even made for him, because like Cash claims he's never felt this way, neither have I. Maybe I don't have the experience, but I've had men in my life. I've simply never had a man who makes me feel the way Cash does. Who makes me burn the way Cash makes me burn.
