Page 105 of Tender Heart
What?
My face twists, and I gasp around my indignation.
He sweeps another digit through my center. The part of me that wants him badly overrides any thread of self-respect or dignity left in this oxygen-starved brain of mine.
“My pussy is yours,” I finally grind out.
My need flares hotter.
“Not enough. Keep going.”
My mouth parts. I grapple for air.
“Mybodyis yours.”
“More.”
“M-my mind, yours.”
Every inch of me trembles.
His face turns pained. “Still not enough.” His chest heaves, its manic rhythm matching my own.
“Hear—” I choke around a sob as tears burn behind my eyes. “My heart, it’s not my own.”
“Whose is it, mo ghràdh?”
Ghràdh. I know that one . . .
Love.
Mo ghràdh . . .My love.
The air in my lungs stalls out.
Cal’s grip around my hips turns harsh, and I whisper. “Yours.”
His jaw feathers, and I swear he stops breathing.
The overwhelming urge to scramble to my knees and wrap my body around his blooms in an ache so deep. But his hold doesn’t waiver.
I try to move, and he shakes his head.
That line we weren’t supposed to cross is so far in our rearview mirror I can barely see it. It may as well be invisible. Nonexistent.
Poof.
Gone.
“Cal,” I utter.
He makes a low, raw noise before clearing his throat. I brush my fingers over his knuckles, almost white over my hip now.
He looks like he needs a restart.
It’s like his heart was just defibrillated. Brought back to life. And he doesn’t know what to do with it. Like it sits, beating messily in his palm.
I want to take it, carefully, with gentle hands to stow it away somewhere safe. I want to make sure that look, the one that says he can’t believe someone could love him back, never crosses his gorgeous face ever again. Ever.
