Page 141 of The Clinch
I tip my head back enough to look at her properly.
“You take very good care of me,” I say.
There it is again, that tiny tell she can’t quite hide.
“I’m not done.”
“Show me.”
She laughs once, and the sound gives her away. “How does a man like you end up choosing this?”
I don’t answer right away. Then I tell her the truth.
“Because every other version of my life gave me too much room to think.”
Her hand comes up and touches my face. Her fingertips are against my jaw, skimming the bruise on my cheekbone, the edge of my mouth, the place where my lip got split earlier. She traces it gently, and the gentleness of it undoes me more than I want her to know.
I turn my face and press a kiss into the center of her palm.
Her breath leaves her in a rush.
Then I look back up at her, and the part of me that knows how to take over clicks back into place.
“Come here,” I say quietly.
I give her half a second to refuse. She doesn’t.
Then I pull her onto my lap in one smooth motion, careful of my ribs, less careful with everything else.
Her thighs bracket mine. My shirt rides higher on her legs. Her hands land on my shoulders automatically, and I feel the exact moment she realizes how hard I am.
“Oh.”
There’s surprise in it. Heat. A little awe.
I drag my mouth slowly along her throat and feel her shiver. “This what you were trying to diagnose?” I murmur.
She makes a sound that goes straight through me.
“I hated watching it,” she whispers.
My hand tightens at her waist.
She shakes her head, breathing uneven. “That’s not true. I want to hate it. But watching you like that…” Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back. “It makes me crazy. Makes me want you in ways that aren’t sane.”
That lands somewhere deep and primitive.
Her fingers slide into my damp hair.
I kiss her deeper.
No hurry now. No mercy either.
One hand at her waist. The other at the back of her neck. Her body melts and then arches, opening under me in stages that feel both innocent and not at the same time.
She tastes like sparkling water and salt and the last of the afternoon.
I kiss her until her breathing goes ragged. Until she stops pretending she’s holding on for balance and starts clinging like she means it.
