Page 46 of Someone to Hold
“This,” I whisper and press my mouth to his.
Chase kisses me like he didn’t think he’d get the chance to again and wants to make the most of it. He keeps his hands fisted at his sides like he’s fighting every instinct to grab hold of me. The restraint only makes me want him more.
I plunge my tongue into his mouth and tangle my fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt as if he truly belongs to me. As if I’m the type of woman confident enough to claim a man like him.
The tension between us flames like a match. Yes, I’m angry. And yes, I want him anyway.
He groans low in his throat, and the sound sharpens the ache between my thighs.
I break away, breathing hard. “Bedroom. Now.”
His brows furrow. “Molly?—”
“It’s simple and straightforward, Chase.” Pretty sure I’m reminding us both. “Either you’re with me or not.”
He blinks, and I almost smile at his expression—like I just knocked the air out of his lungs. It’s a heady sensation, one that makes me feel powerful in a way that’s both unfamiliar and inherently right.
“I’m with you.” He steps aside so I can pass, as if he knows I’m not going to be able to handle his touch. “Let me help—” he starts, reaching for my crutches.
“I’ve got it.” I adjust the grip and make my way toward the staircase. My ankle throbs, but it’s background noise to the electric buzz in my veins.
I can feel him at my back. “Please,” he whispers, and I sigh as I lean the crutches against the handrail and turn to him.
“Fine, but only so I can save my energy for the good stuff.”
His lips twitch as he lifts me into his arms. “So muchgood stuff.”
He takes the stairs two at a time and gently places me on the bed, towering over me but still waiting for permission.
I stretch out and look up at him from underneath my lashes. “If you’re going to act like you’re scared to touch me…” I gesture toward the nightstand. “I have a drawer full of toys to take care of this myself.”
That earns a low laugh. “Tell me what you want.”
I lean back against the pillow. “I want to be in this moment.”
“Just us,” he agrees.
The air between us shifts again. It’s less volatile now, but more charged. His gaze trails down my body, lingering on my injured ankle.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says softly.
“You won’t.”
He kneels in front of me, and his hands go to the strap of the orthopedic boot. He slides it off like I’m made of glass, then leans forward and kisses the skin just above my ankle. It’s tender and intimate and steals my breath.
I reach for him and pull his T-shirt over his head, my fingers skimming across smooth skin and taut muscle. He helps me tug it off, and then his mouth is on mine again, deep and searching. His hands cradle my face, and mine drift over his muscled chest and stomach, savoring the way he shudders under my touch.
“I want to see you,” he whispers.
He helps me peel off my shirt and then my bra, flinging them to some far off corner of the room, then follows me when I shift back on the bed, maneuvering carefully to protect my ankle. He trails kisses down my neck and collarbone, then over the curve of my breast. There’s a quiet reverence in the way he touches me that makes my eyes sting.
Forget cobwebs. It’s as if my heart has been frozen for years, and every kiss is melting the ice around it.
I don’t stop him as he slides his hand beneath the waistband ofmy leggings, lifting my hips to give him full access. Because I trust him with this.
With me.
His hands find the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips, his caress sending shivers along my skin even as he claims more. “Christ, you’re so wet,” he says as his fingers dip into me.
