Page 48 of Pretty Heartache

I hold my breath, anticipation building inside me. Heat returns to the space between my legs, and our breaths are heavy and measured, each one more laborious than the last.

“Ishouldn’t, Addy,” he admits. My nickname has never sounded sweeter.

“Why?” I ask, unable to focus on one thing long enough to pull myself together. I’m vulnerable and broken, surrendering to the truth buried inside me.

“Because,” he whispers, “this can’t happen.”

“It can’t happen, or you don’t want it to?” I focus on my hand wrapped up in his as his other hand falls to my waist.

His fingers dance along the waist of my leggings, slipping under the elastic band. I hold my breath, imagining the pain I’ll feel with his rejection, but I don’t want him to stop. The space between my legs is begging for his touch, building with need forhim. My heart hammers in my chest, begging for something I know won’t be easy.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” he says, his eyes resembling the storm above. The vulnerability I feel inside is the same as what I see in Micah’s eyes.

I press my hand against his chest, over his heart and watch my fingers move slowly over his hardened muscle. He’s warm and comforting, and I practically melt just from touching him.

I want this. I want him to kiss me. I want his hand to explore more than just the waistband of my leggings.

“What you wantshouldmatter,” I tell him, my mouth running dry.

“It never has.” He swallows. There’s pain laced in his expression, too. A battle turning into all-out war in his heated gaze.

His hand slips around the arch of my hip, his fingers grazing deeper below the elastic. He presses his fingertips to the curve of my lower back.

“Tell me to stop.” He breathes harder.

“I won’t.” I shake my head and sweep my tongue across my lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he begs, his eyebrows drawing in.

“Don’t stop.”

“Dammit, Addy.” He groans, resting his forehead against mine.

“You asked me if I’ve felt alone living here with you,” I start, concentrating on his hand on the small of my back. “But what about you? Do you feel alone?”

Releasing my hand, his fingers ghost along the curve of my neck, moving to tangle in my wet hair and grip the back of my head. I lean into it.

We’re incredibly close when we shouldn’t be, but how can Micah’s touch be wrong when it makes me feel like this?

The way I’m feeling could be from my circumstances. Leaving Maddox was an easy decision, but the damage left behind is one I’ve swept under the rug since I left. I’ve been determined to move on with my life, burying myself in the tasks of renovating Micah’s house. Somewhere along the way, Micah has done the same. Taking a break from work has him filling his days with the satisfaction of restoring the old house he’s ignored for years. With me here, I’m someone to fill the void. The parts of his life he’s hiding from.

We’re one and the same.

But I know I want this. I want Micah.

I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head back against the grandfather clock. A moan escapes my throat while I savor Micah’s touch.

“Fuck, Addy.” He tightens his grip on the back of my head.

I crack my eyes open to find him staring at me with a heated gaze. His hungry hands have started to explore more of my skin. His resolve is crumbling.

“Tell me to stop.” He growls, anger sparking with his plea.

I simply shake my head, slipping my hand across his chest and over his shoulder.

“Always so fucking stubborn. Don’t you ever listen to me?” he barks, his jaw clenching. “You don’t understand. I can’t do this.”

“Why?” My pussy is begging for the sweet relief I know his touch will bring. Heat pools and spreads between my legs the farther he lowers his grip on the small of my back. I didn’t realize until now that he’s pressed his hips against mine. His words are telling me one thing while his body is showing me another.

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