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His mouth curves up into a full smile and color rises high on his cheekbones, under the gold of his skin. “And you’re beautiful.”
Not touching him is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say quietly.
“You can’t hurt me. Not you.” He swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing. His hand lifts, hovers over my cheek. “But I could hurt you, like last time. I can’t take that risk.”
I put my hand over his, press his rough, warm palm to my cheek, lean into it. “You didn’t. I swear I liked it. I like you, Shane.”
It’s more than that. “I like you” sounds so unimportant and mild when what I want is to wrap myself around him and keep him—but I don’t dare say anything else. Not when he’s spooked just by the fact he’s touching me, and I fear that this could well turn into a replay of the nightmare of the other night.
Which is why we need to talk, even if his proximity is wreaking havoc with my senses. His scent is everywhere, spicy boy musk with a deeper layer of sea salt and a note of graphite from drawing. He has a smudge on his cheek from his drawing pencils, and under his knit dark brows, his uptilted eyes are elfin and all kinds of pretty.
He pulls his hand away, tucks a strand of dark hair behind one ear, looks away. “It’s my goddamn mind,” he mutters. “I think it’s broken, Cassie. I’m broken. Don’t know how to fix me.”
My pulse crashes in my ears. My heart aches.
“Listen to me.” This time I lift my hand to his jaw, trace it lightly. “Being broken is not the end. Hurting means you’re alive. As long as you’re alive and trust me, and want me, it’s not the end.”
There’s despair in his eyes, and I want to kiss all the pain away. What to do?
“Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. He reaches up, takes my hand, holds it tightly. His gaze returns to mine, raw and vulnerable. “Yes.”
I draw an uneven breath. This is some kind of cosmic joke, I think dizzily, that for the first time in my life I’m dying to be with a boy with a desire that goes beyond physical, and I’m scared shitless.
Me. Cassie Reyes. The girl who goes home with a different guy every night. Who fears nothing.
But that’s no longer true, is it? In fact, it never was. I’ve always been the girl who fears love, and now here I am.
Shivering in my boots as the boy I love doesn’t know how to love me back.
***
I’m in his bedroom, sitting on his bed as he turns off the lights in the living room. I’ve taken off my coat, draped it over the chair that’s already loaded with his clothes, and kicked off my shoes.
Nervousness has me drumming my fingers on my leg and tugging on my rubber bracelet. Unable to sit still any longer, I jump to my feet, head to the door of the bedroom—
He’s right there, taking my face in his hands, kissing me, walking me backward.
Holy cow, he tastes so good, feels so right. I throw my arms around his neck, forgetting all my fears, forgetting we need to talk first. How can I think straight with his mouth on mine, his tongue exploring, lighting me on fire, his body crashing into mine?
We fall on his bed, still kissing, his long hair sliding over his shoulders, pooling on my chest. His weight settles between my legs, his hands on either side of me. His cock is a hard bulge pressing against my throbbing pussy through the denim.
One of his hands snakes up my neck, into my hair, strong fingers tangling and pulling, sending tiny zings of pain through my scalp that only make my arch my back, intensifying my need for him.
I want him so badly. My nipples tingle, pleasure zaps over my nerve endings, leading into my core. I lift my legs, trapping him between them, raise my hips to push against his hard-on.
Too many clothes. I need him naked, warm skin stretched over taut muscle, need to touch and lick and kiss, feel his cock inside me.
I reac
h down, find the hem of his T-shirt, tug on it. He doesn’t immediately get the message, but once he does, he breaks the kiss and pulls the T-shirt off, before leaning over me again.
My mouth is hanging open. Can’t help it. Crap, he’s so hot, all hard muscle and golden skin, ink darkening his flat stomach, his wide chest, his arms. He’s breathtaking.
He has a badass snake tattooed on his right arm, and stylized eagles or some other bird of prey on his chest, with a date inked on top of them. A big dreamcatcher is etched on his muscled stomach.
