Page 58 of Rescuing Ember

Her breath catches, and a flicker of something fierce and beautiful sparks in her eyes. She tilts her head just enough that her lips brush against my jaw, a featherlight touch that sends a shiver straight through me.

“No,” she whispers.

I search her eyes, needing more, needing everything. “No, you don’t want me to stop? Or no, you want me to stop? Which one is it?”

A smile curves her lips, slow, wicked. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers splaying wide as she pushes against me, just enough to let me feel her strength. She leans in, her lips ghosting over mine, her voice a breath against my skin.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

The words hang between us, electric, and my heart slams hard against my ribs. I press my forehead against hers, fighting for control, for the last shred of restraint.

“If I start this…” I murmur, my hands trembling slightly where they rest against the wall.

“I trust you to finish it,” she says, her voice steady, unflinching. Her thumb traces my bottom lip, her eyes locked on mine, dark and open and full of all the things she can’t say out loud.

Slowly, she pulls my hand away from the wall and presses it against her chest, right over her heart. Her pulse is a wild rhythm beneath my palm, matching the frantic beat of my own.

“Feel that?” she breathes. “It’s yours.”

A groan slips from my throat, and I lean in, pressing her back against the wall, my body enveloping hers, the difference in our size unmistakable. My forehead rests against hers, our breaths mingling, and I let myself feel all of her, the warmth of her skin, the way she arches into me, inviting, needing. The last of my hesitation crumbles under the weight of her words, touch, and trust.

“Mine,” I whisper, and her eyes shine with something beyond desire—something raw, something real.

I take off my shirt, Ember helping, and it lands on the floor in a forgotten heap. Ember explores my chest with greedy hands, nails raking over scars and sinew, stoking the fire blazing in my blood. Reaching for her shirt—my shirt, the one I gave her—I hastily drag the fabric over her head, barely registering the flash of her dusky nipples before I’m buried face-first in the valley of her breasts.

Smooth, supple flesh gives way beneath my greedy hands as I palm the generous mounds, kneading and caressing until she’s panting and arching into my touch. Leaning down, I drag the flat of my tongue over one pebbled peak before sucking it into my mouth.

Ember mewls, fingers clutching the back of my head as I lave attention on her sensitive tips, lavishing them with licks and nips until she’s writhing shamelessly against the wall.

“That’s it, baby,” I growl against her slick skin, pinching and rolling her neglected nipple between my fingers. “Let me hear you. I want the whole fucking world to know who you belong to.”

Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me back to her, and as our lips meet again, there’s no space left for doubt, no room foranything but us. For her consent, her need, and my promise to give her everything she asks for and more.

Those words—that trust—hit harder than any physical touch. This isn’t desire. This is something deeper and far more dangerous. Something that could break us both if we’re not careful.

I’m past caring about careful. Every kiss, every touch, every soft sound she makes writes itself onto my soul.

Her touch brands me, claims me.

I trail kisses down her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin. She arches into me, one hand fisting in my hair while the other traces fire down my back. The taste of her skin is addictive—sweet and salty and something uniquely her.

“Blaze,” she breathes my name like a prayer, and something inside me breaks and reforms. “If this is what you call professional distance, I want more.” She gasps as my teeth graze her collarbone.

“To hell with professional.” I lift her, pinning her against the wall with my body. “I want you more than I want to be professional.”

All thoughts of duty and distance burn away in the heat between us.

There’s no going back now. No pretending this is anything but what it is—two people finding wholeness in each other’s broken places. Every touch, every kiss, every shared breath is a promise neither of us intended to make, but both of us will die to keep.

As she traces the scars and stories written on my skin, I realize how much I want this.

How much I want her.

Every complicated, dangerous, beautiful inch of her. Not just for tonight but for however long she’ll let me stay.

Professional boundaries be damned—none of it matters anymore. There’s only this. Only her.

Only us.

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