Page 52 of Hold on Tight

“I don’t think it works that way,” she said. “I think we tried that once. I don’t think we do simple. We do complicated.”

“We’re older now. Smarter.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so. I think we make each other stupid.”

He was in her space now, backing her up. She could feel the heat of his body. Smell soap and musk, which called to the most primitive part of her brain:You want this.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s be stupid.”

Chapter 16

He took her hand. Threaded his fingers through hers.

She made a noise. “It’s just holding hands,” she said. “But it’s totally messing with me.”

“Yeah.” He moved his fingers between hers, and that, too, he felt everywhere—all over the surface of his skin.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve had sex that isn’t this good.”

She startled a laugh out of him, and she turned her head to look at him. “Did you just laugh?”

“I did. Isn’t that allowed?”

“You don’t do it much.”

“I haven’t felt like laughing in a long time.”

“Well, then, I’m going to allow myself to be flattered that you did. But I’m still going to kick you out.”

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Jake—”

“Come here,” he said, and pulled her in.

He kissed her.

Friction. Heat. Pressure. And the sweet, silky feel of her mouth opening under his, of her tongue teasing his. A slick back and forth, a satisfying slide, a request, a demand, an ode to whatever current ran between them and always had. A heated rush for union, a dive into the deep, dark heart of stupid. He was bent on showing her exactly how stupid he was. How stupid they were going to be.

And how fucking great it was going to feel.

He was like some kind of short-fused missile right now, his control a rope slipping out, scraping his hands as it played. Or maybe it was just the alchemy of Mira. The flowery scent of her hair, and the softness of it against his face. The curves of her body, pressing his in all the right places, activating some primalgrabimpulse that made his hands range over the surface of her clothing, finding secret passages under hems.

She lifted her face, exposing the pale line of her throat, and he kissed her there, kissed down her throat and the bare expanse of her chest, journeyed back up to kiss her mouth again because he craved it, craved the heat, the avidness of her response, the way her breath quickened and her hands sought him, the way his sought her. It was impossible to deny. He wanted to lift her up so he could notch himself there, but he was afraid of losing his balance and dropping her.

He hated the sensation of being afraid. He always had, but he’d tolerated it when the thing he feared was death. Fearing himself was intolerable.

“Jake?”

Now it was a question.Where’d you go?

He’d gone back into his head. Just for a second.

And she knew somehow. She knew well enough that she said, “Come back.” And put both her hands behind his skull, her fingers weaving into his hair, and pulled him into the currents where the chatter faded into the dull roar ofwant. Kiss after kiss, quick ones now so they could breathe and moan and touch each other’s faces with a dreamy, early wonder.