Page 35 of The Girl and the Cobra

Regret what? Going out into the woods to try to find him, or the kiss? Either way, however you frame it, the answer is the same, and I tell him that, “No. Do you?”

His reply comes immediately, “Not for a second.” The look he gives me right then is unlike any other look I’ve received—not only from him, but from anyone in my life. It makes me feel like he’s right in front of me, like there’s inches between us and not a full bed. An intense gaze that’s amplified by the hard breath he exhales.

The longer he looks at me with that smoldering stare, the more heated my cheeks become. How on earth could a single look make me feel so… so heavy with a pressure I can’t describe?

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Tristan whispers. “It’s taking every ounce of self-restraint in me to stop myself from crawling on top of this bed to get to you.”

“What happens if you do?”

Tristan’s gaze narrows somewhat in my direction, like he thinks I’m testing him. I’m not. I really am curious what the answer is. “Then not even God himself could pull me away from you.” He blinks, and his gaze falls to the bed. His voice comes out softer when he adds, “I’ve been known to be too much. To go too hard. The things I wanted in the past weren’t right. The things I’ve done… I’m not like you. I’m not a good person. I never will be.”

Is he trying to warn me away? Is he hoping that, by saying all this, I’ll change my mind and tell him it was one big mistake?

“You’re too good for me,” he says, “and I’m too bad for you.”

I take a small step to the side, inching toward the foot of the bed, and the moment I do, Tristan matches my movement on his side. “Who are you trying to convince: me or you?” I make it to the corner of the bed, and he moves to the opposing corner.I have to hold onto the bedframe for support, while Tristan’s hands hang at his sides, in a constant state of flexing.

“I go from zero to one hundred real fast,” he warns.

Maybe that’s what I need. “I’m not running.” And then I realize I couldn’t run even if I wanted to—not with this ankle of mine—and I open my mouth to start to make the joke out loud, but Tristan doesn’t let me.

All of a sudden he’s in front of me, grabbing my face with both hands and pulling me in toward him as his tall frame bends to close the distance. His mouth lowers to mine, and it all happens so quickly that I’m startled by the fast action and gasp into the kiss—but Tristan doesn’t seem to mind based on how hungrily his lips press upon mine.

The hands cupping my face curl back and weave into my hair. My eyelids flutter closed. If I thought last night was a fluke, that we were both only feeling so desperate thanks to the circumstance of me almost getting lost in the woods, I’m proven wrong. This kiss is just as demanding, just as fierce and passionate—maybe even more so, because now I know what to expect. I’m not going in blind. I know exactly how to kiss him back.

Tristan’s hands fall to my sides, and before I know it he picks me up. Our lip lock doesn’t break as he walks us around the bed and crawls on top of it. My head meets my pillow as he lays me down, his body on top of mine, pinning me down in every way.

His mouth moves off mine so he can trail fervent kisses along my jawline and down to the crook of my neck. He kisses a tender spot, making me moan and arch my back against him, and he responds by nibbling that same spot and making me do it all over again.

He lifts his face away from my neck, and I crack open my eyes to find him staring down at me. “What?” I breathe out thequestion, willing to do anything to get that mouth of his back on me.

“You make the sweetest—” Tristan’s nose grazes mine. “—softest sounds.” His lips brush against mine for the shortest of seconds before he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and draws out another stifled moan from me. “Promise me they’re mine. Promise me they’re all mine, that you’ll only make those sounds for me.”

One of his hands curls around my upper neck as he stares down at me, the desire written plainly on his face. “Tell me you belong to me,” he murmurs. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Maybe I lost my mind somewhere along the way, or maybe it’s the heat of the moment… or maybe I already believe it to be true, but I can’t say no, can’t deny him this. Nodding once, I whisper, “I’m yours, and you’re—” I lift a hand and trace one of the scars on his face, the one near his jawline on the right side of his face. “—mine.”

Tristan’s entire body shudders above mine, like he felt my words in his very soul. “Yes,” he pants, “you’re mine, and I’m yours.” His mouth crashes down on mine again as he inhales everything I am, getting drunk off it. Off me.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never knew it could be like this. How deeply you could feel for someone else in such a short time, like the other person has somehow found a way into every fiber of your being and forever changed you. Consuming in every possible way even though it defies all logic.

The hand on my neck roams downward to my collarbone and lingers there for a few seconds before it drops even lower, cupping my right breast over my shirt and bra. Even with two layers of fabric between his skin and mine, it’s still enough to make me shiver; no one’s ever touched me like that before.

It doesn’t stay there, either. Tristan really wasn’t kidding when he said he goes from zero to one hundred in an instant.That hand falls to the bottom of my shirt and snakes beneath it. His hand dances over the skin on my belly before rising to my chest once again—only this time there’s no fabric between our skin. Beneath my bra, his large, rough hand cups my tit and starts to massage it, and his finger runs over my nipple and instantly pebbles it.

I moan into the kiss. Everywhere he touches turns to fire, and I can’t get enough.

This… this doesn’t feel real. Is this really happening? How am I supposed to do anything when my mind is always going to be here, on this bed, with Tristan? How the heck am I supposed to focus on anything else when the thought of Tristan and his mouth and hands is always going to be right there?

Tristan pulls his mouth off mine, breathing hard as he nuzzles against my neck once more. My body squirms under his, the assault on my neck and the constant pressure of his hand on my chest is almost too much to bear.

I don’t doubt Tristan would go all the way with me right now if I let him. I know he wants to—and, heck, I want to, to—but right now, I think this is as far as we get today. Plus, I don’t really want to have to worry about my ankle when I should be totally focused on him.

But I want to. God, do I want to. Shut my mind off and let our bodies do what bodies do naturally. Live in the present instead of the past. What I wouldn’t give to feel like this twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Tristan’s hand drops lower, moving off my chest, its destination undoubtedly the area between my legs, but I grab his wrist and stop him. He pulls his face away from the crook of my neck to look at me, questioning.

“Can we just…” I’m slow in releasing his wrist, bringing that same hand to his face and letting my fingertips dance along his sharp, scarred jawline. “…lay here?” Whether I blush because ofwhat I’m about to say or because kissing Tristan brought it out of me, I can’t say, but I do blush something fierce when I add, “I don’t know if I’m ready for—”

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