Page 12 of Falling for the Sheriff
I close the final, tiny distance between us, rising onto my toes as my eyes flutter shut. My hand finds the cool leather of his jacket for balance, and then my lips are on his.
It’s not a hungry kiss, not at first. It’s a question, a test, a soft and searching press that tastes like a favorite old memory. It’s a perfect, devastatingly sweet end to a perfect night. Except…it doesn’t have to end.
Pulling away, I look deeply into his green eyes and search for something concrete. Something that tells me that if I feed into this, cave to the weight of what I want, will I regret it?
The last three months were lonely and filled with a longing that no one should experience.
“I want you,” I confess through a whisper. “Ireallywant you. But not just for tonight, Atlas. I want—”
His mouth cuts off my confession as he swoops down to kiss me all over again. This time, I feel his hunger, one that’s even greater than mine.
The gentle question is gone, replaced by a deep, claiming answer. His hand slides from my cheek into my hair, tilting my head back as his lips move over mine with a desperate intensity that steals the breath from my lungs.
This is no longer a goodnight kiss; it’s a way to sate a long-lasting craving.
His tongue tangles with mine, and a low groan vibrates in his chest, a sound of pure, unrestrained want that I feel deep in my core. The taste of him is as good as I remember.
Deep down, a part of my brain that’s not overwhelmed by the taste of him flickers with a pang of panic—the neighbors. This complex has way too many people who could easily catch a glimpse.
The sheriff of this small town, where everyone talks, pinned against my front door, devouring a poor woman alive…
The thought is enough. My hand, which had been fisted in his jacket, releases its grip and scrambles blindly behind me. My fingers find the cold, familiar brass of the doorknob. I twist it, pushing the door open without breaking the seal of our mouths.
I stumble backward into the dark entryway, and he follows without hesitation, a predator answering its prey’s unspoken invitation. His arms wrap around me, one hand splayed against the small of my back to keep me from falling, the other still cradling my head as our kisses turn frantic, deep, and endless.
The door swings shut behind him with a soft, final click, plunging us into a private darkness lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds. We are finally alone.
The outside world, the neighbors, the entire town—it all disappears, leaving nothing but the two of us, the ragged sound of our breathing, and the profound, undeniable truth of what happens next.
As soon as we part ways to fill our burning lungs with air, I’m fumbling for the switch on the wall, turning on a soft light just in time to see him shrugging off his leather jacket.
Just like that, I’m seeing those trunk-like arms, and my legs tremble beneath me. Another memory flashes, the easy, staggering strength with which he’d lifted me before.
Can he pick me up now with that same effortless power? The thought alone sends a shiver of pure want through me.
The night I lost my virginity to him, things were a messy, frantic collision of two desperate adults who both needed something only the other could give. The hunger between us made desperation claw at the surface. There was no time for conversation, no time for tenderness, no time for anything but feeding the frantic, blinding need.
“I wanted to win your heart the right way.” His voice is gravel-rough, strained with the effort of holding back. As his jacket drops to the floor, the same raw hunger I remember burns in his gaze, but it’s banked by a tenderness that makes my chest ache. “But I’m a weak man, Alice. One look at you, and I want you as much as I did back then.” He takes a step closer, andgravity feels heavier. “My feelings haven’t gone away. Rather, they’ve grown. I don’t just want your body. I want…”
I nod, my throat too tight for words, my heart hammering against my ribs. I know. I know. I want it all, too.
He closes the distance between us then, but his movement is agonizingly slow. He doesn’t grab me. He lifts his hand, and with a reverence that steals my breath, he carefully sets his palm flat against my stomach. The heat of his touch sears through the fabric of my sweater. His eyes hold mine, fierce and unwavering.
“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice low and absolute, a vow spoken in the quiet of my entryway. “Whatever you need, I’ll be there. I want to be.”
The words dissolve the last of my fears. I surge forward to meet him as he kisses me again, a deep, soul-searing kiss that tastes of forgiveness and a future I’d almost stopped dreaming of.
In one fluid motion, his arms slide under me, and he lifts me against his chest as if I weigh nothing at all. A gasp of pure delight escapes me, my arms looping around his neck, holding on as he carries me further into my apartment.
Between desperate, searching kisses, he manages to find his way to my bedroom, like he’s already been inside one of these apartment layouts. My mind, hazy with desire, snags on a mundane, embarrassing detail.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” I breathe against his lips. Outfits scatter the floor from my earlier dilemma, and I’m sure the pile of dirty clothes tucked in the corner can’t be too appealing.
He doesn’t even glance around. His eyes are locked on mine, filled with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “You’re the only thing I can look at right now.”
A giggle escapes me, and I feel even lighter in his arms.
Ever so carefully, like I’m made of the most precious glass, he sets me down on the edge of my bed. Towering over me, Idrink in the sight of him. There’s no denying the evidence of his arousal; the strained fabric of his jeans hardly hides the hard, thick curve beneath the teeth of his zipper. The sight sends a fresh, liquid heat pooling low in my belly.
