Page 46 of Shatter

"I'm me. And you're you..." he says, his frown growing.

"And?"

"Mel..." he chastizes, and I hate the tone in his voice.

He attempts to take a step back, but I don't let him.

"No. Harrison. We're going to talk about this. Do you want me?" I could feel insecure about it, but I know that he does. Everything he's said and done to me, I know he wants me. Even cuddling on the couch together, spooning, he always has a hard-on. I know the effect I have on him.

Sad brown eyes implore mine. "I'm a decade older than you, Mel. Your step-uncle," he hisses the last words like he's afraid someone's listening.

"So you can fuck my throat but can't kiss me?" The urge to fight with him is rising inside of me - to yell, to throw things, to make him - but I want to show him I can be his partner and not just someone he has to manage.

"It's different..."

"That's a lame excuse."

"Mel..." he growls again, but I'm having none of it.

"Harry..." I growl back, lowering my voice in a pathetic mimicry of his low octave.

He sighs, in frustration or annoyance, but I just don't care.

"You could have anyone in the world; why the hell would you want to get tangled up with me?"

Stunned doesn't begin to explain what I'm feeling. My jaw hangs open as I gape at him, but he's unable to meet my eyes.

I grip his face in my hands and bring it so close to me that he can't help but look at me.

"Maybe because you're the best man I've ever met?"

I go to continue, but he cuts me off. "You have the rest of your life to meet more men."

A tiny growl of protest escapes my throat, and it makes the corner of his lips tip up.

"I wasn't finished," I complain. His smile widens a fraction. "You're the best man I've ever met. You're the most thoughtful, caring, and deeply empathetic person I've ever met. You're selfless in a way I don't even think you understand. It comes so naturally to you that you don't even see how incredible you are. If I could design my perfect man, it would be you - scars and all."

I let my fingers trace the mottled skin up the side of his neck. A shiver wracks down his spine at the contact.

"So don't be another person in my life telling me what I want."

His shoulders slump as his hands rest on my thighs. This seems to be a recurring position for us, and I kind of love it.

"So, what do you want, Mel?"

"You."

I bring his mouth back to mine and this time he lets me. One hand instantly threads through my messy hair, as the other wraps around my lower back and pulls me flush against him. He's all hard muscles under soft fabric. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him flush against me, instantly finding what I expected - he's hard.

It isn't a scene, or a punishment, or anything except two people kissing each other. He's tentative at first, still tense, but as I hold his stubbled cheek in my hand and deepen the kiss, he finally melts with me. My tongue dances with his; need growing between us slowly, languidly, like we have all day to make out. His hands thread through my hair where they snag on the knots I'm sure I have from the sex the night before.

I'm not sure I've ever kissed or been kissed like this before.

That's when it dawns on me. He gave me punishments and sex when I needed it, but kissing is intimate. People at The Envelope play. Boyfriends and girlfriends kiss. We may have been having sex, but he's sitting here thinking that's all it is - that all this is temporary. That won't do at all.

I want more of this. More moments like this. Just a man and a woman connecting. He might not love me yet, and I might not be willing to analyze my growing feelings for him, but right now it feels like two people baring their souls to each other.

Finally, when things feel like they're about to escalate, I pull back. I don't want him to think I only want him for sex. There's a connection between us - a trust, an understanding - that I'm addicted to. I want him to know that I value you for more than just the protection he gives me.