Page 18 of Protected By the Single Dad Sheriff

None of that matters when his mouth leaves mine to trace a burning path along my jaw, down the column of my throat. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, a soft gasp escaping me when he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below my ear.

"We should stop," he murmurs against my skin, even as his hands tighten on my hips, pulling me more firmly against him.

"Probably," I agree, making no move to pull away. Instead, I rock slightly against him, the friction drawing matching moans from both of us.

He pulls back enough to look at me, his pupils dilated, lips swollen from our kisses. The raw desire in his expression makesme feel powerful, desirable in a way I've never experienced before.

"This is crazy," he says, though his hands remain on my hips, thumbs drawing small circles that make it hard to concentrate.

"I know," I whisper. "But I've spent my whole life being sensible, doing what was expected. Look where that got me."

His expression softens, one hand leaving my hip to brush a strand of hair from my face with surprising tenderness. "You deserve better than to be someone's rebound, Isabella. And I haven't... it's been a long time for me."

"I'm not asking for promises," I tell him, pressing my palm against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his heart. "Just this moment. Just... feeling something real for once."

The conflict in his eyes is palpable—desire warring with responsibility, with caution. I understand it completely. This isn't just about the two of us. He has his daughters to consider, his position in this small community. I have a life in shambles, bridges burning behind me.

Logic dictates we should walk away now, before this goes any further. But logic has never made my heart race like this, never made my skin feel too tight, too hot, too sensitive to every whisper of air and touch.

"The girls," he says, regret coloring his voice. "They're right upstairs."

I start to move off his lap, embarrassment flooding me, but his hands tighten, holding me in place.

"Wait," he says. "I didn't mean... I just meant we need to be... discreet."

The implication sends a fresh wave of heat through me. "Oh."

His eyes search mine. "Unless you want to stop? We can, Isabella. No expectations. No pressure."

When was the last time someone genuinely cared what I wanted? Not what was appropriate or advantageous, but what I, Isabella Rosewood, actually desired?

"I don't want to stop," I admit, the honesty both terrifying and liberating. "But I don't want to make things complicated for you either."

He laughs softly, the sound warm and intimate in the quiet room. "Too late for that. You complicated things the moment you walked down Main Street in that wedding dress."

I smile, a weight lifting from my chest. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be." His hand comes up to cup my cheek again, his touch caring. "I'm not."

This time when our lips meet, it's slower, deeper, an exploration rather than an explosion. His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, rugged fingers against the sensitive skin of my lower back sending shivers up my spine.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs against my mouth. "So damn beautiful."

No one has ever called me beautiful like this—like it's a revelation, a discovery, rather than an expected compliment. Sebastian complimented my appearance the way one might admire an expensive painting with appreciation for its value rather than genuine awe.

Jake's admiration feels earned somehow, as if he's seeing past the surface to something essential in me. It makes me brave.

I reach for the hem of my shirt, ready to pull it over my head, but his hands gently catch mine.

"Not here," he says, his voice husky. "Not like this."

For a moment I'm confused, hurt even, until he clarifies.

"If we're doing this," he continues, "I want to do it right. In a bed. With time to..." He trails off, color rising in his cheeks.

"Time to what?" I press, suddenly needing to hear him say it.

"Time to learn you. Every inch." The promise in those words makes my pussy throb, juices trickling down to my panties.

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