Page 89 of Bottles & Blades

It slides into her eyes, her tempting smile, the way she tightens her grip.

Fuck.

All of that erodes my control.

It would be so easy to get rid of my underwear, to spread her legs and plunge deep, to give us what we both need.

“You’re dangerous, buttercup,” I mutter, snagging her hand and bringing it back up to my chest.

“So if I asked you to—” Her eyes flick down and then back up.

I kiss her, wet and deep and long. “I’d say yes,” I admit. “Because I can’t tell you no. But”—I touch her cheek—“though it would feel fucking incredible, it wouldn’t be as perfect as it should be, as I want it to be. And it wouldn’t be what I want it to be.” A beat. “Do you get why?”

Her eyes study mine for a long moment.

Then she shifts closer, presses her lips to mine.

“I get why, honey.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Though, Idon’tget why you picked up my phone.”

A change in subject.

I should be relieved.

My control isn’t at risk of being unraveled, not any longer.

Unfortunately, her statement reminds me of her mother’s entitlement and sharp words, and I feel my calm start to slide away. “We need to talk about that, buttercup. Need to talk about your mom and why she thinks it’s okay to speak to you like that.”

Her inhale is sharp. “Jean-Mi, she doesn’t?—”

“I don’t care who she is or what she did, I’m in your life now.” I tilt her chin up again. “And that means I will not let anyone talk to you like that, not even her. Not for any reason.”

She’s quiet, back to studying my face.

“What?”

She just shakes her head. “I’m trying to figure out who you are and where you came from.”

My chuckle rumbles up in my chest. “Not sure I have the answers to give you on that front.”

“Though,” she says quietly, shifting closer, tangling her legs with mine. “I’m starting to think that maybe you’re all I’ve been waiting for and everything I never thought I’d have.”

Those words?—

Fuck, they settle hard and deep and?—

“Iknowyou’re that for me,” I say, giving her words that aren’t prudent, aren’t safe, aren’t smart. But I give them anyway.

“Oh,” she whispers, pretty brown eyes gorgeous and soft.

My mouth curves and I lean in, brush my lips over hers, murmuring, “Smart.”

I reach back, turn off the light, gather her close again. “Sweet.” I smooth back her hair. “Kind.” I kiss her forehead. “Funny.” Settle my chin on the top of her head as I hold her tight. “Beautiful.”

My eyes grow heavy, oblivion starts to creep in, and that’s when I hear her whispered words.

“No, that’s you, Jean-Mi.”

I hold her even closer as sleep takes me under.

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