Page 52 of Dirty Little Mistake

"It's not too late then?"

"If that's your indirect way of asking if I'm dating Owen," I smirked, "no, but we do hang out." His jaw tightened. "As friends. Just like you and me. Friends."

"Friends," he repeated. "For now."

I laughed. "You seem so sure of yourself."

"I am," he said, his tone so serious I believed him.

"Don't you have a concert or something to be at?"

"Yeah, and I have to give Jax his bike back, but I wanted to make sure you were good. To make sure we were good before I left."

Swallowing hard, I nodded. "Just don't ever do that again."

He reached out, cupping my face gently, brushing his thumb across my cheek and his fingers along my neck. My eyes closed, and I melted into his touch. "I'm really sorry, Cam."

The raw sincerity in his voice, the slight tremor in his hands as he reached for me—it all spoke louder than his words. For the first time, I saw past his usual bravado to the vulnerability beneath. He'd driven all the way out here just to apologize, and that had to mean something, right?

"I really want to kiss you."

My eyes opened, meeting his intense gaze. The air between us felt charged, dangerous. He hadn't moved closer, but somehow the space between us had shrunk to nothing. I sucked in a harsh breath, trying to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. He was still Trystan. Still the guy who'd made promises and then ghosted me, still the one who could shatter my heart if I let him.

But god, he was beautiful. The morning light caught in his messy dark hair, traced the strong line of his jaw, highlighted the hunger in his eyes. My resolve crumbled like wet sand.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I surged forward. The first brush of our lips was tentative, questioning–then his handcurved around the nape of my neck, thumb pressing gently against my pulse point, and something inside me unraveled.

I may have started the kiss, but Trystan quickly dominated it. He looped an arm around my waist, and I shifted, throwing my leg over him and straddling his lap. He shoved his hand into my hair, tugging, forcing my mouth wider, and feeding me his tongue. His chest rumbled with a deep, low groan.

My nipples pulled tight as I brushed my breast against his heated chest. His hands gripped my ass as he lifted from the bed, holding me tight against him as he turned and dropped my back to the bed pressing his weight into me.

And as if the lights switched on, I came to my senses. Ripping my mouth from his, I shoved at his chest. "I can't... We can't..."

He propped himself up, holding himself over me, every point where we weren't touching suddenly electric with possibility. "Right," he breathed. “Friends.”

"This," I waved my hand between us, my fingers trembling slightly, "confuses me." The words felt inadequate. How could I explain that every touch scrambled my thoughts? That his presence alone made it impossible to remember all the reasons we shouldn't do this?

I pressed my palm against his chest, meaning to push him away. Instead, I found myself memorizing the steady thud of his heartbeat. "And right now..." I forced myself to meet his eyes, "I need to be able to think straight. I need to know this isn't just..." Another impulsive decision. Another mistake. Another regret waiting to happen.

"Okay." His smile was gentle, but something darker flickered in his eyes. His hand covered mine where it rested against his chest. "We take it slow." His thumb traced circles on my wrist, sending shivers up my arm. "But Cam?"

"Yeah?"

"'Slow doesn't mean I'm letting you go this time."

The certainty in his voice made my stomach flip. This was exactly what I'd asked for, wasn't it? So why did it feel like I was still falling, still waiting for the ground to disappear beneath my feet?

He rolled onto his back beside me. "But you're going to have to cover up," he said, voice rough as gravel, "or I'm not going to be able to control myself." The muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched it, his knuckles white where they gripped the sheets.

I laughed, the sound carrying more confidence than I felt, and pushed off the bed. When I turned to face him, I let the last of my hesitation fall away with the sheets. The sharp intake of his breath was audible in the quiet room. His eyes raked over me with an almost physical weight, leaving trails of heat in their wake. The bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard sent a shiver of satisfaction down my spine.

"Will you come see me on tour?”

"Nope." I curved my lips into what I hoped was a casual smirk, fighting to keep my voice steady. "If you want to see me again, you're going to have to work for it."

I forced myself to walk to the bathroom, feeling his eyes trace every step. The wooden door clicked shut behind me, and I sagged against it, letting out a shaky breath. Through the thin wood, I could hear him shifting on the bed as the springs creaked. Was he leaving? Staying?

My palm pressed flat against the door. One push and I could go back out there. Tell him to stay. Let him prove himself right now, consequences be damned.

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