Page 89 of Vega

“You think?”

I added cream and parmesan to the skillet, watching the sauce thicken around the chicken.

“I’m scared I wouldn’t know how to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Be a mother. Be somebody’s wife. Love people on that level.”

His brows pulled together. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I’ve never had it. What if everybody else learned something growing up that I missed?” I looked at him. “What if I don’t know how to make a child feel safe because nobody made me feel that way?”

Vega stood again. This time, he approached without teasing in his eyes. “You know what it feels like to need safety. That probably means you’d make damn sure your child never had to ask for it.”

I swallowed.

“You’re worried about not knowing how to love because nobody showed you how,” he said. “But you care about Dior. You protected him by keeping him out of this, even when you needed somebody. And you still worry about becoming the kind of mother who makes her child feel safe.”

His thumb moved lightly across my cheek.

“That doesn’t sound like somebody who can’t love. It sounds like somebody scared of doing it wrong.”

He reached up and touched my cheek.

I should’ve moved. But, instead, I leaned into his palm.

His thumb brushed beneath my glasses.

My heartbeat changed.

“Vega.” The word slipped out soft, almost pleading.

He lowered his face, pausing close enough for me to decide. I closed the distance. The first touch of his mouth was softer than I expected, lips parting mine with a slow hunger. Then his hand slid behind my neck, and the kiss deepened into something feverish. I gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in as our bodies aligned. His chest pressed firm against my breasts and the heat of him seeped through my oversized shirt. I felt the hard line of his dick nudge against my thigh. It was thick and hard even through his pants.

Every thought about captivity vanished beneath the feel of his lips and the power in the hand holding me close. My virgin pussy clenched involuntarily, and a fresh ache built low in my belly as I leaned harder into him.

When he started to pull away, I followed, chasing his mouth with mine. I didn't want him to stop. The realization shocked me more than the kiss itself.

His free hand dropped to my waist, fingers digging in as he backed me against the counter. The spoon clattered from my grip. I arched into him, feeling that dick twitch in response, my loose pants doing nothing to hide how my body responded. His tongue swept in, tasting me deeply while his grip tightened. I moaned into the kiss, hips shifting just enough to grind lightly against his length, the friction sending sparks up my spine.

Vega growled low, the sound vibrating through our connected mouths as he held me pinned there, bodies flush and burning.

Vega broke the kiss just as my body quivered against the counter.

I glanced down to see the hard outline of his dick straining against his pants, clear evidence of his desire. I ached for him to give me everything, but he drew his hand away, stepped back, and adjusted himself with a quiet breath.

"I’m sorry," he roughly murmured, leaving me exposed and longing against the counter.

Embarrassment rushed into my face. A few seconds earlier, I had been ready to let him spread me across the counter and take something I had protected for twenty-three years.

Now he was apologizing as if touching me had been a mistake, as if he had gotten close enough to realize he didn’t want me after all.

I looked away and reached for the spoon with an unsteady hand. My legs still felt weak, and embarrassment made every movement clumsy.

“It’s fine.”

“Sonnet—”