droplet of water gathered in that delicate hollow.
Dash couldn’t be trusted to speak yet. Sure, anger hadn’t worked. It was still there, so potent that he could barely see past the gleaming red haze of pain and loss.
He wasn’t enough for her. He didn’t make her happy.
So, pain and loss and another type of shame—the kind that had nothing to do with his sexual desires. He’d wanted to give her an incredible life. This was where they’d ended up.
He met her inquisitive eyes and held her stare. She ducked her gaze first, which wasn’t like her at all. Only when trembling fingertips reached for her collarbone once more did he move.
This wasn’t another wrestling match.
He caught her wrist between both of his palms. The bones in her wrist were so delicate. He should’ve been mortified by the angry red abrasions that circled her skin, that he’d maimed something so perfect. Instead he tramped down a flushed, needy wash of lust at seeing physical proof of all they’d done.
Her bow-shaped lips parted and her eyes softened. She’d put the hostility away, but there was no telling how long the cease-fire would last. Didn’t matter. Dash had survived four tours by taking advantage of such lifesaving moments in the midst of chaos.
Bringing her wrist to his mouth was easy. Right. Something beautiful and slow and sexy—something he’d forgotten having once done. They’d been kids, and even back then he’d known what to do, because he’d been so goddamn head over heels.
The flowing seduction of two people in love.
When had that gone away? Not the love, but the… ease ?
He kissed the inside of her wrist, where her skin was still damp and warm. Three kisses in total. Each one touched where a zip tie had held her immobilized.
A part of him flipped over, unable to stop. This time it wasn’t the ferocious way they lit each other on fire, but the simple gift of touching his skin to hers. He wanted more. Traveling with infinite slowness, he treated her like a doe that might bolt at any moment. Who’s to say she wouldn’t? They had too much mistrust and too much unpredictability between them to make assumptions.
So he kept kissing. The back of her hand. The soft slope of her shoulder. And finally, he reached the droplet of water in the hollow of her collarbone and sipped it away. Her warm scent filled his senses. He couldn’t help nestling his nose against her neck and breathing in. Breathing her in.
Sunny’s so-quiet gasp barely reached his ear. He hadn’t let go of her wrist. Instead he pulled back. Without looking up to ask permission—taking again, but in the gentlest way possible—he started the same path of kisses up her other arm. He touched his tongue to every droplet he found. He was surprised by the tender gratification of feeling goose bumps lift across the skin he caressed.
He returned to her neck, and with gentle palms, he found the dip of her lower spine. Holding. Not confining. Had she squeaked the wrong way, he’d have jumped a yard backward. He opened his mouth and kissed her throat, and she answered with another sigh nearly too quiet to hear.
There, tucked close, where it seemed safest to speak his mind, he closed his eyes. “I have an apology and a question. No, two questions.”
Perhaps the sound of his voice made her flinch, but at least it wasn’t some huge repulsed flight from his arms. She made a noise of encouragement.
“I’m sorry for making you late for work.”
“Not sorry for what you did?”
“No.” He moved his hands forward to span her waist. The rhythm of her breathing was jerky and shallow, like his. “Not sorry. You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was. And I wouldn’t believe it of you either.”
A shiver chased across her shoulders. Dash leaned down to kiss her there. More jasmine and damp skin and goose bumps. He wasn’t aroused—not yet. Too much could go wrong to let his body off the chain even a little. But he was aroused by possibilities. Quiet
Dash couldn’t be trusted to speak yet. Sure, anger hadn’t worked. It was still there, so potent that he could barely see past the gleaming red haze of pain and loss.
He wasn’t enough for her. He didn’t make her happy.
So, pain and loss and another type of shame—the kind that had nothing to do with his sexual desires. He’d wanted to give her an incredible life. This was where they’d ended up.
He met her inquisitive eyes and held her stare. She ducked her gaze first, which wasn’t like her at all. Only when trembling fingertips reached for her collarbone once more did he move.
This wasn’t another wrestling match.
He caught her wrist between both of his palms. The bones in her wrist were so delicate. He should’ve been mortified by the angry red abrasions that circled her skin, that he’d maimed something so perfect. Instead he tramped down a flushed, needy wash of lust at seeing physical proof of all they’d done.
Her bow-shaped lips parted and her eyes softened. She’d put the hostility away, but there was no telling how long the cease-fire would last. Didn’t matter. Dash had survived four tours by taking advantage of such lifesaving moments in the midst of chaos.
Bringing her wrist to his mouth was easy. Right. Something beautiful and slow and sexy—something he’d forgotten having once done. They’d been kids, and even back then he’d known what to do, because he’d been so goddamn head over heels.
The flowing seduction of two people in love.
When had that gone away? Not the love, but the… ease ?
He kissed the inside of her wrist, where her skin was still damp and warm. Three kisses in total. Each one touched where a zip tie had held her immobilized.
A part of him flipped over, unable to stop. This time it wasn’t the ferocious way they lit each other on fire, but the simple gift of touching his skin to hers. He wanted more. Traveling with infinite slowness, he treated her like a doe that might bolt at any moment. Who’s to say she wouldn’t? They had too much mistrust and too much unpredictability between them to make assumptions.
So he kept kissing. The back of her hand. The soft slope of her shoulder. And finally, he reached the droplet of water in the hollow of her collarbone and sipped it away. Her warm scent filled his senses. He couldn’t help nestling his nose against her neck and breathing in. Breathing her in.
Sunny’s so-quiet gasp barely reached his ear. He hadn’t let go of her wrist. Instead he pulled back. Without looking up to ask permission—taking again, but in the gentlest way possible—he started the same path of kisses up her other arm. He touched his tongue to every droplet he found. He was surprised by the tender gratification of feeling goose bumps lift across the skin he caressed.
He returned to her neck, and with gentle palms, he found the dip of her lower spine. Holding. Not confining. Had she squeaked the wrong way, he’d have jumped a yard backward. He opened his mouth and kissed her throat, and she answered with another sigh nearly too quiet to hear.
There, tucked close, where it seemed safest to speak his mind, he closed his eyes. “I have an apology and a question. No, two questions.”
Perhaps the sound of his voice made her flinch, but at least it wasn’t some huge repulsed flight from his arms. She made a noise of encouragement.
“I’m sorry for making you late for work.”
“Not sorry for what you did?”
“No.” He moved his hands forward to span her waist. The rhythm of her breathing was jerky and shallow, like his. “Not sorry. You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was. And I wouldn’t believe it of you either.”
A shiver chased across her shoulders. Dash leaned down to kiss her there. More jasmine and damp skin and goose bumps. He wasn’t aroused—not yet. Too much could go wrong to let his body off the chain even a little. But he was aroused by possibilities. Quiet
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