Page 137 of Be My Compass

Like magic, the shackles of my restraint slip off. His body frees me, and I lock onto him. Press my thighs against his waist and fuse to him. It’s right there. Reasoning. Common sense. They’re lying outside of me. Prostrate on the bed. Away from the moment.

My chest points to the ceiling as I inhale a shuddering breath.

Kastle collapses on top of me. The familiar weight pushes me into the mattress.

He whispers, “So beautiful.”

And my eyes go wide.

We fall apart. Dive beneath the wave together.

At the same time.

He kisses me until I can’t differentiate between his taste and mine. Everything I ever needed falls from the tips of his fingers and I only have to open myself up to get access to it.

My name on his lips is a prayer. A stroke of reverence. And it gets me emotional.

I like the way I feel, connected to him like this. I like that my body’s broken in a new and different way. I like the power in my hands to make him shout and moan and groan. I like how easily he makes me do the same.

We kiss each other. A slow, patient kiss.

Then silence.

Our arms around each other pull tight.

Our breaths form a steady rhythm. They move in tandem. Like they’re one. Like we’re one. Same body. Same soul. He breathes me in when I breathe out and I close my eyes because the moment is too sweet to be real.

He kisses my forehead. Growls into the quiet. “I didn’t need the damn roses.”

Laughter fills my chest. Spills from my lips. Makes my body shake beneath his. “Did you clean up your apartment?”

“My housekeeper had a lot of questions.”

I giggle. “I kept thinking I should call you. Just in case you accidentally kicked a candle and set your house on fire.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I was angry.”

He kisses my forehead again. “I should have burned it all down.”

“You threw everything away?”

“Except the box of—”

“Ah.” I shift beneath him. “You were walking around with them?”

“I wasn’t sure how I would give you back.” His dark hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at me. “It’s a hell of a present.”

“We made use of it eventually.” I run my hands up his tattoo sleeves. Over the Chinese characters. Freedom.

Every part of his body is delectable. Every. Part.

I’ve confirmed that personally.

But these tattoos…

They drive me wild. I love the way they stiffen and contract on his tan skin when he moves his arm. The way they tell a story that only I know. Like a map to a treasure that only I can see. A tiger in a cage. Except when he’s with me. Freedom.

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