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"I'm curious about some of these," she says.

"Some of what?"

"Your scars." Her hand reaches across the pillow barrier. Hesitant at first. Then her fingers make contact with my chest and I stop breathing entirely.

She runs her hand down slowly. Exploring. Tracing the lines of muscle and old damage. Her touch is feather-light. Like she's half-expecting me to tell her to stop.

I don't.

Can't.

My cock hardens instantly. Achingly. Straining against the sweatpants in a way that's going to be obvious if she looks down.

She doesn't look down. Just keeps touching. Keeps sliding her hand lower. Over my abs. Down my side to a long scar that runs from my ribs to my hip.

"How'd you get this one?" she asks. Her fingers trace the raised skin.

I have to clear my throat before I can speak. "Bar fight. Three years ago. Guy broke a beer bottle. Used it like a knife."

"That must've hurt."

"It did." My voice is rough. Strained. "Needed twelve stitches."

Her hand keeps moving. Keeps sliding down. Following the scar to where it disappears into the waistband of my sweatpants.

She's right at the edge now. Her fingers barely an inch from where my cock is straining against the fabric, hard, obvious and begging to be touched.

Does she know what she's doing to me? Can she tell how close I am to losing control completely?

"Paige." Her name comes out strangled. "What are you doing?"

Her hand freezes. She looks up at me with wide eyes. Uncertain. Vulnerable.

"I have no idea," she whispers. "I can stop. I should stop. This is—"

"Don't." The word comes out harsh. Desperate. "Don't stop."

"Gabriel…"

"Please." I reach down and cover her hand with mine. Press her palm flat against my stomach just above the waistband. "I'm asking you not to stop."

She stares at me. Processing. Her pupils are dilated. Her breathing is shallow. There's heat in her eyes I haven't seen before.

"I want to continue," she says. "God, I want to. But you're helping me. You're protecting me. This is… It's complicated and messy and probably a terrible idea."

"It's a terrible idea," I agree. My hand is still covering hers. Still holding her palm against my skin. "But I want it anyway."

"You do?"

"Paige." I look at her directly. Let her see the hunger I've been trying to hide. "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you at that register. I've been thinking about you for weeks. And right now, if you want to touch me, I'm not going to stop you."

She bites her lip. Thinking. Calculating. Making a decision that could change everything between us.

Then she slides her hand lower.

Slips it beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, and wraps her fingers around my cock. I groan. Can't help it. The sound is guttural and completely involuntary.

"Fuck," I breathe.