My kisses on her neck grow greedier, and when I cup her breast in my hand and pinch her nipple, she gasps. Then all of the sudden she cries, “Stop!” She yanks out of my arms and jumps out of bed.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I sit on the edge of the bed, facing her, and turn on the bedside lamp.
She squints against the light and blinks at me. She takes in deep, gulping breaths, like she’s trying to calm herself down.
I’m an idiot. I should’ve woken her up before touching her. I fucking know better. “I’m so sorry.”
She gulps in air and puts a hand flat against her chest. “It’s fine. I’m the one who’s sorry. I haven’t had anyone crawl into bed with me in a long time. It scared me.” She gives me a wobbly smile and steps forward. She drags her fingers over my stubble and straddles my lap. “I’m glad it’s you.” When she presses her mouth to mine, the kiss is gentle. Shaky. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
I shake my head. Will she ever trust me enough to show me all of her ugly insides? “I think . . .” I trail my thumb down the side of her neck, and she closes her eyes. I think you might be as broken beneath the surface as I am. “I don’t ever want to scare you.”
“You don’t.” She presses her lips to mine again, but this time the kiss is firm and sure. She pours herself into it.
I saw the fear in her eyes—I recognize that haunted terror as well as I recognize my own reflection—but I let her drown her fear in me. I kiss her in return. I grip her hips and rub my tongue against hers until the connection between us is all that matters.
She draws back enough to pull her shirt over her head and toss it on the floor. Before she can press her body to mine, I roll her onto the bed and prop myself on one elbow so I can look down at her. I kiss her gently. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“It’s okay.” She strokes her hands down my back. “I’m fine.”
I don’t think you are. There’s more she’s not saying, so much she’s not telling me. But I won’t push. Not right now. I’ll give her whatever she needs. Distraction. Pleasure. Oblivion.
And I’ll give myself what I need too. Her.
She wraps a hand around my bicep and tries to tug me down. “I want you closer.”
I chuckle, scanning over her again. I memorize every inch, catalogue her beauty even as my mind spins wildly with all the ways I want to touch her. “I like the view from here.”
She arches, as if the words alone shoot pleasure through her.
“I love looking at you.” I bend, flicking my tongue against her peaked nipple. Gasping, she jerks beneath me. “Love tasting you.” I press my open mouth to her breast and trail my hand down her body, slipping my fingers beneath the waistband of her panties where she’s already slick. “Touching you.”
“Carter.” My name is a moan on her lips as my fingers dance across her clit. She parts her legs for me, letting me toy and play and touch until her whimpered pleas become louder and more frantic and she’s grabbing a condom from the bedside table and begging for me.
Pushing this morning’s conversations from my mind, I silence her moans with my mouth and we lose ourselves in each other.
“You’re beautiful.” I rake my gaze over her after taking care of the condom. She looks like a goddess in the warm light of the bedside lamp—flushed skin against white sheets in nothing but her satisfied smile—and contentment wraps around me as I climb back into bed with her.
Her pulse flutters wildly at her neck, and I dip my head to press a kiss there. “Your heart’s still racing.”
“You do that to me.”
I groan. “I want to do it again and again.”
Panic flashes across her face. “Carter . . .”
I roll to my back. “No rush. I meant it when I said so last night. You know what I’m offering. All you have to do is decide if you want it.”
She rolls onto me. “The truth is I’m not so sure you’re going to want me. Not the way you mean. You deserve that perfect girl Ethan said you’re looking for.”
I don’t want her. I want you. “What? You’re telling me you’re not perfect?”
She huffs. “Shut it. You know I’m not. And if you think I am, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I don’t want perfect, Teagan. Perfect is boring.”
“Okay, well, how about a little less screwed up, then?”
“You think I can’t be with a woman who grieved so deeply she had to be dragged from bars?” I watch as she pales and decide to go all in. “Tell me about your ugly insides, Teagan. Tell me about Rich.”