But she doesn’t do any of that. She moans softly against my lips. The sound emboldens me and I lift one thumb, drift it across the generous curve of her breast for one lingering moment before I let it drop.
She breaks the kiss this time, her breaths fast, her lips swollen and wet as she looks down at me. My hands go to her sides and I hold her there, spreading my fingers over her rib cage as we continue to watch each other and catch our breath.
“I should go,” I tell her, because I should. Damn it, I should leave her and never look back. I take it too far every single time I see her and that’s half my problem. More than half my problem.
Because I’m possessed with the need to push it even farther. With the need to see her again, touch her again, kiss her, see how far I can take it when we’re together . . .
I’m playing with fucking fire. And we’re both going to end up burned.
“Okay,” she whispers with a little nod, surprising me. I figured she wouldn’t let me leave, but this is good. This is what I want.
Or so I tell myself.
I lift her off my lap and she tumbles onto the couch beside me, her breathing still accelerated, her hair a mess about her head. I must have run my hands through it at one point, though I hardly remember anything beyond her mouth on mine, her tongue circling, her hands gripping my shoulders . . .
“I’m glad you came over,” she says, not looking at me, staring straight ahead. She almost seems embarrassed and I don’t want her feeling that way. “I hope . . . we can do it again sometime.”
Leaning over her, I cup her cheek and tilt her head so she’s looking at me. “We will,” I promise solemnly. “I can guarantee it.”
She smiles, a little laugh escaping her as she murmurs, “So serious,” and I capture her laughter with my lips, silencing her. The kiss turns deep in an instant, our tongues tangling, heat growing between us, and I break away as fast as I kissed her, rising from the couch, running my hand through my hair as I try to tell my hard dick to settle down.
It’s damn tough, though, when I see Katie sitting on the couch, warm and pliant, with swollen lips and flushed cheeks. I want to swoop in and gather her in my arms. Carry her back to her room and sprawl her across the bed. Strip her naked, stretch her arms above her head, spread her legs and have my way with her. Feast on her, lick and nibble and kiss every inch of her skin, touch her, fuck her with my fingers, my tongue, my mouth, my cock . . .
You’re taking this too far. She’s still petrified of you, of what you represent, even though she wants it. Wants you. But if she found out who you really are? She’d flip the fuck out. You’ll never have a taste of her again.
Reluctantly I head to the front door and Katie springs up from the couch to follow behind me. She zips in front of me at the last minute, her hand on the door handle as she reaches up and undoes the deadbolt.
“Thanks for dinner,” I murmur, stopping just in front of her.
She leans against the door, her hands tucked behind her perfect ass. Which I should have touched only a few minutes ago, but I blew my chance. “Thank you for coming over. Sorry we didn’t get to watch a movie.”
“I had a much better time doing what we just did.” I kiss her. Drop the lightest, most chaste kiss possible on her lips because I can’t fall into that trap again. It’s one I never want to escape.
“Me too,” she whispers when I break away from her.
I touch the tip of her nose, drift my finger across her cheek. “I’ll call you? Text you?”
She nods, no hesitancy, no coy games from my girl. She’s painfully straightforward—with the exception of talking about her past. “Please. I’d like that.”
“Good night, Katie.” She steps out of the way and I reach for the handle, opening the door. I’m about to leave when she’s tugging on my sleeve and I turn toward her, bracing myself when she plasters her body against mine and gives me one last, soul-searing kiss before sending me off into the night.
“Good night, Ethan,” she murmurs as I jog down the steps of her front porch.
Her sweet voice echoes in my head the entire drive home.
It was her voice that came to me in my dreams, even a year later, after everything that happened. Not so much her face anymore, and I missed that, though I didn’t like reliving the way she looked the last time I saw her. Bruised throat, bruised and scraped face. Knowing what caused those wounds—and who.
He came to me in my nightmares far too often. Katie though? Not often enough.
She haunted me in the darkest part of the night with that sweet, melodic voice as she called my name, like she was lost and in search of only me. As if I were the only one who could save her, and the pressure was enormous. I felt it pressing down on me, like a weight sitting on my chest that I couldn’t push past no matter how hard I tried.