Chapter 19
ROPE WORK (LEO)
Istep into the bedroom still warm from the shower, skin tight from salt and sun and holding back. Steam clings to my skin. I stayed under the water too long trying to get control back.
It didn’t work.
I drag the towel over my shoulders and reach for the T-shirt I left on the chair.
It isn’t there.
I look up.
She’s on the bed.
On her stomach. Ankles crossed. Paperback open in front of her like she’s killing time instead of setting fire to the room.
She’s wearing my shirt.
The navy fabric hangs loose over her hips. When she shifts, the hem climbs higher on her thighs and the wings of her tattoo flash in the low light.
The sight of her in my shirt hits clean and brutal.
She doesn’t look up right away. Just turns a page. Settles deeper into the mattress. At ease in my space. In my clothes.
Then she lifts her eyes to mine.
No nerves. No apology.
“I was planning to wear that,” I say.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “You still can.”
I step closer and stop at the edge of the bed. My shirt probably already smells like her—jasmine, coconut, warm skin under my soap. The realization goes through me like a hook.
“You can take it back if you want,” she adds lightly.
She shifts one knee. The hem rides higher. I look at her for a long second, then let the truth out rough.
“I like you in my clothes. Keep it.”
Her gaze stays on mine. Then she turns back to her book and flips the page. I move to my side of the bed and lie back.
Calm on the outside.
Inside, I’m hanging on by my teeth.
Holding still takes the kind of focus I usually save for late rounds, when the opening is there and I don’t take it.
I feel hope before I can kill it.
The mattress dips when she moves, just enough to register it low in my ribs. But she doesn’t shift closer.
The ceiling fan hums. Somewhere outside, someone laughs. A door slams down the hall.
Normal sounds. Ordinary.
None of them help.
She closes the book slowly.
Sets it aside.
Her attention catches on my mouth before she looks back up. It takes effort not to react.
“This book I’m reading,” she starts, almost casual. “It gave me an idea.”
I don’t answer.
“It’s a romance.”
Every muscle in me tightens. I keep my eyes on her. “What kind?” I ask, rougher than I want.
“About a man and a woman.” She tilts her head, studying my reaction.
I take a controlled breath. Corner-between-rounds. “And?”
She thumbs to a marked page. “They’re alone. Late.” Her eyes lift to mine. “I thought it might be fun to read together.”
She moves onto her knees, the mattress dipping under her weight. The shirt rides higher on her thighs as she crawls toward me, fabric brushing skin. She wants me watching, and I don’t make it hard for her.
She stops right above me. Her knee presses into the mattress beside my hip. Then the other.
“It might be even more fun if I just show you instead.”
She swings one leg over me and settles astride my thighs like it’s her right. Her weight sinks in, real and undeniable.
That’s where the last of my restraint gives out.
My hands come up to her hips on instinct, fingers pressing into her skin. She braces her hands on my chest, palms warm and steady, and I stop thinking past the next second.
I slide a hand under the hem of the shirt, skin hot beneath my palm. She arches into the touch, the fabric riding higher as if it’s forgotten its job entirely.
Want wipes everything else out. There is only the next second and her on top of me.
She shifts again, playfully giving way to something heavier. And that’s when I lose it.
I sit up fast and catch her face between my hands, pulling her down into the kiss that’s been waiting all weekend.
She meets me instantly.
Her body moves against mine, done pretending, hands sliding up my shoulders and into my hair. I kiss her deeper, and the sound she makes goes straight through me.
I drag her closer. She rocks against me, and I groan into her mouth, discipline breaking in real time.
I can’t get enough of her.
The taste of her. The heat of her. The fact that she’s here, on top of me, finally not pushing me away.
I turn us before I think too hard about it.
Her back hits the mattress. My weight follows, caught on my forearms, barely held off. I kiss down her jaw, her throat, the line under her ear I already know wrecks her.
“Fuck, Liz,” I mutter against her skin.
My hand slides under the shirt again, over the soft line of her waist, higher. Her breathing breaks. I lift my head and look at her.
“Tell me you want this,” I rasp. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” she says, breathless.
Hearing it out loud nearly undoes me.
Her gaze flicks away for a second. Not shyness. Calculation. The part of her that always reaches for terms before she lets herself feel anything.
Then she adds, lightly, “We don’t have to make it mean more than it is.”
My hands are still on her. My mouth is still at her throat. The words don’t register right away—just sound, just her voice, just the warmth of her skin under my palms.
Then they do.
Not all at once. Just enough to stop and see the offer tucked inside the easy sentence. The way she’s already making this smaller before it can ask anything real of her.
This isn’t her choosing me. This is her choosing something she thinks she can survive.
The truth of it lands, brutal and cold, and I pull back hard enough to break the spell.
“Fuck.”
Her hands drop from my shoulders. “Leo?”
I make myself look at her. “I want more.” Silence. “I’m not doing this halfway. Or calling it casual.”
She stares at me like I’ve stepped sideways into some language she doesn’t speak. Then I watch the wall go up—fast and familiar.
Without touching more than she has to, she slides out from under me. Straightens the hem of my shirt over her thighs like she’s putting herself back together.
“Okay.” Flat. Controlled.
I sit back and give her room because that’s the only thing I know how to do that won’t make this worse.
She grabs her shorts. Her hoodie. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t ask me to explain. Her silence hurts worse than anger would have.
Without looking back, she crosses the room. The door opens. Closes softly behind her.
I stay where I am, the bed still warm from her body.
I did the right thing.
I know that.
I’m going to keep knowing it all night.