20. Casey #3
Close enough that I can see anger still simmering beneath the calm expression he’s forcing into place, close enough that I can smell whiskey and cedar and winter air clinging to him.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says quietly.
I swallow.
“You trusted someone you loved.”
Something in my chest twists painfully at how simply he says it.
Like trust isn’t stupidity.
Like love isn’t weakness.
His thumb shifts once lightly against the underside of my breast, and the small movement sends warmth sliding all the way up my arm. “I should be over it by now.”
“Who decided that?”
I let out a breath that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh. “You’re very annoying when you’re emotionally intelligent.”
“I’ll work on that.” He looks away and then back to me, with so much heat in his eyes it’s a wonder the snow doesn’t melt all around us.
“They are right about one thing, though; I would never break your heart. Not because I don’t have one, but because yours is too precious to handle with anything but care. ”
My mouth curves before I can stop it.
His eyes drop to it immediately, and my breath stutters.
The way he looks at me. The way his focus narrows on my lips. Like he’s trying very hard to remember why this is a bad idea.
My pulse starts climbing. “Adriano—”
“I know.”
The roughness in his voice goes straight through me.
I spin in his arms so I’m pressed to his front. The bulge of his cock against my belly makes goosebumps break out over my skin.
He lifts his hand slowly, giving me every chance to move away, and when I don’t, his fingers slide against my jaw before settling at the base of my throat.
Warm.
Steady.
Possessive enough to make heat bloom low in my stomach, and my pussy to throb.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he says quietly.
The sincerity of it wrecks me more than flirting would have.
His thumb brushes lightly beneath my ear.
I can’t think properly when he touches me.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I whisper, my voice embarrassingly unsteady.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying not to.”
Something flickers across his face then, sharp enough to feel dangerous. “I am trying not to, and yet I fail every time. You consume me, Tesoro.”
My breath hitches. “Adi.”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth. “Yes, Tesoro?”
And that—
That destroys whatever restraint either of us still had left.
I kiss him first this time.
Our mouths clash with need and desire as I tunnel my fingers through his thick hair. His hand on my throat tilts me just how he wants and I moan deeply, allowing him to deepen the kiss. His tongue licks against mine and his grip tightens on my hip, hauling me tighter against his erection.
God.
The sound he makes against my lips is low and rough enough to send heat rushing through me instantly, one hand sliding firmly to my waist while the other stays at my neck, holding me exactly where he wants me.
The kiss is slower than New Year’s was at first, deeper somehow, like he’s savoring it instead of losing control to it.
Which somehow feels even more dangerous.
I grip the front of his jacket as his mouth moves against mine, warm and demanding and devastatingly confident, and every thought in my head dissolves under the sheer relief of finally kissing him again.
Because I’ve wanted this too.
More than I’ve let myself admit.
His hand tightens slightly at my waist when I lean closer, my body fitting instinctively against his, and the small reaction that pulls from him nearly undoes me completely.
The cold air barely registers anymore.
Neither does the party inside.
There’s only him.
The scrape of his jaw against my skin when he angles deeper into the kiss, the warmth of his mouth, the controlled strength in the hands holding me like he’s trying not to lose himself completely and failing.
It’s not frantic.
That’s what makes it worse.
It feels deliberate.
Wanted.
Like every restrained look over the last month has finally turned into this.
His thumb strokes once against the side of my neck and a shiver runs straight through me.
“Casey,” he says against my mouth, my name roughened into something that barely sounds like language anymore.
I don’t even know what he means by it.
A warning, maybe.
Too late.
I kiss him again before he can say anything else, and this time his restraint slips properly.
His hand flexes at my waist, pulling me fully against him as his mouth turns hungrier, deeper. Enough heat sparks low in my stomach that I make a soft sound before I can stop it.
His entire body reacts to it.
God.
The realization hits me all at once then, sharp and dizzying and terrifying in the best possible way.
This man wants me as desperately as I want him.
The thought steals what little breath I had left.
Eventually, he breaks the kiss first, though it visibly costs him something.
His forehead rests briefly against mine while we both breathe harder than we should be from kissing alone, his hand still spread possessively against my waist like he doesn’t entirely trust himself to let go yet.
Inside, somewhere beyond the doors, the orchestra starts another song.
Neither of us moves.
And for the first time in a very long time—
I don’t feel humiliated at all.
I just feel wanted.