Page 56 of Rescuing Ember

Slowly, achingly so, tension begins to ease from her body. Her death grip on the cushion loosens. Her shoulders drop from their defensive hunch. Each stroke of my fingers melts away another layer of her guard.

A soft sigh slips past her defenses, and the sound sends electricity dancing through my veins. Her head tips back against the sofa, eyes fluttering closed. The sight of her surrendering to my touch, trusting me despite my earlier rejection, makes my chest tight.

“That feels amazing,” she whispers, the words carrying a hint of wonder. The last traces of hurt fade from her expression, replaced by something warmer, more dangerous. Her foot flexes in my grasp, pressing into my touch.

My hands move higher, working the tension from her calf. Another sigh escapes her, deeper this time, and the sound stirs something primal in my chest—each reaction, every shift of her body, chips away at my resolve.

Her skin feels like silk beneath my fingers. The lean muscle of her calf tenses and relaxes with each stroke. I shouldn’t notice these details—shouldn’t catalog every gasp and every flutter of her eyelashes, but I’m hyperaware of every response, every subtle sign that she’s affected by my touch.

Tension builds in my body. Arousal stirring where it shouldn’t.

The air between us grows thick with unspoken possibilities. This isn’t a foot rub anymore—it’s crossing into territory I swore to avoid.

The intimacy of the moment suddenly seems to hit her. Her body tenses, and that earlier uncertainty creeps back in. Static electricity crackles between us, the air coming alive with the heat building between us. Her pulse jumps at her throat, a visible reminder of how this affects her.

She pulls her legs from my grasp, tucking them beneath her. The loss of contact leaves my hands burning and empty. We’re balanced on a knife’s edge—one wrong move, and everything changes.

“I should probably get some sleep.” Her voice comes out shaky as she smooths down her shirt—my shirt—avoiding my gaze. “It’s been a long day.” The words sound hollow, as if she’s trying to convince herself.

Time stretches between us, taut as a bowstring. Every breath draws us closer to a point of no return. The professional boundaries I tried to maintain dissolve with each passing second.

“Is that what you want? To sleep?” The words come out rougher than intended, heavy with everything left unsaid. The real question burns beneath. “Are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?”

“You said…” Her teeth catch her bottom lip, uncertainty warring with desire. When her eyes finally meet mine, they’redark with want and something deeper—a challenge. “You said no.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“What happened to protecting me from yourself?”

The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. I meet her gaze, finding my desire reflected there.

“Whatever.” She stretches, arms reaching overhead. My shirt rides up, revealing a strip of pale skin at her waist. “I’m tired anyway, and it’s probably a bad idea.”

“You don’t look like you’re tired.”

Seeing her in my shirt ignites something possessive deep in my chest. A growl builds, rough and primal. Each innocent movement, the casual grace of her stretching, the way the shirt clings to her curves—chips away at my control.

It’s pure torture.

Suddenly, the room feels too small and too hot.

“I don’t have to be tired to know staying here is the wrong thing to do.” Her eyes meet mine, and the challenge there makes my blood roar.

Gone is the hurt from earlier, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and the small movement snaps the last thread of my restraint.

My blood roars in my ears as I take in her expression—all that fire, that defiance mixed with raw vulnerability—the last threads of my control fray and snap.

“Maybe I’m tired of good intentions.” My voice comes out rough, raw with honesty. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.”

Color floods her cheeks, but her chin lifts with that stubborn defiance that’s driven me crazy since day one. She doesn’t back down, doesn’t look away. Her pulse jumps visibly at her throat, betraying how my words affect her.

“Are you?” Her voice carries a hint of vulnerability beneath the challenge, reminding me of my earlier rejection.

I close the distance between us, giving her time to retreat. The air crackles with electricity, and every molecule is charged with anticipation.

She stands her ground, chin lifting in that stubborn way that drives me crazy. Her breath catches, her chest rising with a sharp intake of air.

Suddenly, we’re sharing the same breath, the same space.

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