Page 48 of Cold as Stone
He leans forward, nipping my earlobe as he answers, his breath hot against my skin. “I want to build the kind of anticipation that has you soaked and shaking, When I finally slide into you, Kya, you’ll be begging me to make you come.”
I shudder. “I could beg now.”
Lee chuckles, relaxing back onto the couch. “Don’t deny me this. I want to tease us both for a while.”
We fall into comfortable silence, the only sounds the steady beat of his heart and the distant hum of traffic. After a while my eyelids grow heavy, the stress and emotion of the last few days finally catching up with me.
“I should probably go,” Lee says, but he doesn’t move.
“Probably,” I agree, but I don’t let go of him either.
“Let me stay,” he says after a moment. “Just to sleep. I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”
I know I should say no, but the truth is, I don’t want to be alone either.
“Okay.”
We make our way to my bedroom, the domesticity of it both thrilling and terrifying. He borrows a toothbrush, I change into pajamas in the bathroom, and then we’re lying in my bed in the dark. He’s taken his shirt and jeans off, leaving him in just his briefs.
To say watching that was a religious experience is an understatement. The man could give a god a run for his money.
“This is crazy,” I murmur into the darkness.
“Yeah,” he agrees, pulling me closer. “But good crazy.”
His hand finds mine under the covers, lacing our fingers together. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels monumental.
“Sleep, Kya,” he murmurs against my hair. His hand slips up to rest on my hip.
Closing my eyes, I smile.
12
LEE
Iwake up to the soft, unfamiliar rhythm of someone else’s breathing. For a second, I forget where I am—the bed beneath me isn’t mine, the room smells like vanilla and something I can’t place. Then I feel the weight against my chest, the warmth pressed along my side.
Kya.
Her hair is a mess of blonde waves across my shirt, one hand splayed over my ribs, the other still tangled with mine under the covers. Fuck, she feels good snuggled in beside me. I’ve had women in my bed before, but this is different.
She’s different. Or maybe I am because she’s mine.
The possessiveness that thought brings should scare me. Instead, it settles a restlessness I’ve carried for years. Her lashes flutter against my chest, and I watch her surface slowly from sleep. I tighten my arm around her waist, selfish enough to want to keep her here just a little longer.
“Morning, sunshine,” I murmur against her hair.
She makes a sound that’s part groan, part death rattle. “Do not sunshine me before coffee, Armstrong. I will end you.”
I chuckle, the vibration making her grumble and burrow deeper into my chest. “Noted. You’re not a morning person.”
“I’m not a people person before ten a.m. and two cups of coffee,” she mutters into my shirt. “Consider yourself warned.”
“What if I’m very, very charming?” I ask, cupping her ass.
She lifts her head just enough to glare at me with one squinted eye. Her hair is sticking up in about seventeen different directions, there’s a crease from the sheet pressed into her cheek, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Charming is not going to save you from my morning wrath,” she says, but she’s fighting a smile.
