Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

She bites her lip, and her eyes flare with passion. I can’t fight my smile. Doesn’t take orders, my ass.

After a few light drags of my palm, I squeeze her breast gently, rolling her nipple between my fingers. Convinced that she’s okay, I move back in. Her mouth opens to me instantly. Famished, I tilt my head, delving in, exploring every contour of her mouth with an eager pull of my lips. Her tongue rolls against mine. So fucking sweet.

Minutes or hours or years, time dissolves as we fall into each other’s kiss. My body is alive, vibrating with a wild need to claim her. I position my leg between hers and bite back a roar of satisfaction at the fire I feel against my thigh. Her hips roll against me, searching for the relief that I’d give her now if I could. But not here, not like this.

I move to her neck and absorb her racing pulse against my tongue. “I want you.”

“Mmm…” She tilts her head, allowing me full access to her throat.

“Where’s Axelle?”

“Home.”

That’s not going to work. My place. “When’s your curfew?”

“Eleven.”

It’s pure torture, but I drag my hand away from her breast and reach for my phone to check the time. Nine forty-five. “I’ll have you home by then.” I motion to the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

She rolls her lips between her teeth, her expression tense.

Shit. She’s spooked. This isn’t some one-night-stand that I picked up in a bar. She needs gentle, which means I’ve got to tame my shit. “Mouse.” I step back and give her some space. “Your choice. No hard feelings.”

With her arms crossed over her stomach, she studies me through narrowed eyes. I hold my hands up and take one more step back. I know her past haunts her, makes her question my motives. The last thing I want to do is scare her away.

Handling a woman this fragile is more difficult than I thought it’d be. But with her, it doesn’t feel like work. It’s like coaxing open the petals of a flower. What the fuck? I grimace and tell myself the next time a thought like that pops into my head, I’m begging Layla for another flying knee to the ’nads. Shit.

“Sure.” She gives me a timid smile, but her arms are still locked protectively in place. “As long as I’m back by eleven.”

I reach for her hand, and when she takes mine, I relax a little. A quick trip to the passenger side, and I open the door and watch her climb in. Her tempting body’s wrapped in tight jeans and a low-cut shirt that showcases her curves to perfection. Damn.

On the drive to my house, I think of all the reasons I shouldn’t have sex with her. As obvious as the reasons seemed only minutes ago, they’re getting less and less relevant as we near my place. They fade to mere static as we push through my front door, and by the time, she’s sitting on my couch—why wouldn’t I sleep with her?

“You want something to drink?” I say from the kitchen, grabbing myself a bottled water.

“No, uh… no thanks.” She pulls all of her hair over one shoulder and twirls a long strand. Her eyes move around the room, but fail to land on me.

I grab her a bottled water anyway and bring it to her. When I set it down on the glass coffee table, she jumps. Did she change her mind?

Dropping down next to her, I prop my feet on the tabletop. “You want to talk about it?”

She turns toward me, her eyes wide. “About what?”

“This.” I motion between us. “I think it might help you relax.”

“I don’t know. I’m…” She drops her eyes to her lap.

“I’ll start. I dig you. You’ve most likely figured that out by now.”

She peeks up from beneath her eyelashes.

“Not gonna lie, I’d give anything to have you naked in my bed.”

She blushes and bites her lip. At least she didn’t run screaming.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that.” Elbow on the armrest, I lean my head in my hand. “Fuck, not sure I’m ready for that. But now you know my intentions. I like you. I don’t need it all right away. I want you to trust me, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes to earn it.”

As the words pour from my lips, my mind struggles to keep up. That was some deep shit. And every bit of it I meant. It’s not what I’m used to telling women. I’m usually giving the speech about no-strings or expectations. This is new.

She clears her throat and faces me on the couch. “I appreciate you taking your time, but I’m not as fragile as you think. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’d like to see where this goes.”

I reach over and hold her hand, surprised when she interweaves our fingers in her lap.

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