Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Antonia
No one has ever said that to me before.
Risk. That I’m worth it. That I’m worth taking a risk for.
It’s so unexpected, it feels wrong. Like he’s talking to the wrong woman. I’m usually the one taking the risk for everyone else.
Our hands are locked together. His warm, mine still a little cold. And I don’t let go. Not of him.
Normally, I always do. I pull back the moment someone gets too close. Self-preservation taking over.
But not this time.
This time, I stay where I am.
We sit there, staring at each other. I think he wants me to say something, but I have no idea how to respond. Nothing seems enough, but laying myself on the line feels like too much. So, I stay quiet. And just let the moment handle the silence.
My breath is unsettled, out of sync with his.
He smiles then, his eyes kind, waiting patiently. His thumb brushes across the back of my hand, gentle but deliberate. I don’t catch the whisper.
“What did you say?”
“Talk to me.”
His thumb presses more as if trying to squeeze a word from my lips. I’m nervous. Not frightened-nervous. Just scared of what this could mean. No. Not scared. Cautious.
“It would be good to know if you like me too,” he says, chuckling softly.
I kiss his cheek. He smells of warm spice and skin. I breathe in, needing something I didn’t know I missed. “Is it not obvious?”
We lean a little closer, and our knees brush. Both of us glance down at the contact, then back up at each other, and giggle.
“I feel like a schoolgirl.”
“And I feel like the boy who’s been staring at you across the playground for months,” he says.
I pause.
This is it. The terrifying moment where I have to choose myself and not what I can control. If I meet him halfway, then we’re really doing this. And there’s no hiding behind work anymore.
Every wall I’ve built, every boundary I’ve placed between myself and moving forward will need to crumble. I don’t do things in half measures, whether personal or professional. I’d rather not try at all.
But I lean further.
Our lips touch… barely. His breath brushes against my skin.
Warm. One of his hands leaves mine. His fingers slide along my arm, moving slowly from my wrist to my elbow, then higher to my shoulder.
They leave a tingling sensation where he touches me.
Heating my blood as they move. Unsettling part of me I’ve kept hidden for years.
Finally, his thumb grazes my cheek before his hand settles at the back of my head, guiding me closer. My lips part a little wider, though my eyes are still open.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re safe.”
I do.
I believe him.
So, I close my eyes.
I haven’t been kissed in a long time. Not by anyone who mattered. My heart beats harder.
Then our lips lock. Tight. Sensual. Moving toward each other instead of away.
My fingers tighten on his shirt before I even realize I’m holding him. Tugging him toward me. I need him closer. Shuffling to meet him, like my body demands. Not running, not retreating, like I would expect to be. Holding firm, keeping him near.
My hand slips free from his and moves to his shoulder, desperate to find more of him. It slides down his chest, feeling the strength beneath his shirt. My fingers curl into the fabric, lowering slowly to the top button. His hand settles over mine, making me pause. I don’t want to stop.
“There’s no rush. We’ve waited a long time for this.” His thumb skims lightly over my knuckles. “I want to savor every moment.”
His hand is warm over mine. Steady. Certain.
And suddenly I realize how much I need him to stop talking.
“Maybe I don’t want to wait,” I whisper.
He chuckles softly, then rests his forehead against mine. We breathe together. In and out. Us, the only sound in the room.
“I’ve been waiting a while,” he murmurs. “You can wait a few minutes more.”
“I don’t like waiting.” I pop the button open anyway.
He stills. For a moment, I think I’ve gone too far. Panic hits, and I tense, waiting for the crash. Then he kisses me again—harder this time, more certain. Control slipping from my fingers to his.
And I like it.
I surprise myself with that. Not being the one in charge feels good. It’s been forever since anyone showed me the way.
His grip on the back of my head tightens slightly, pulling us closer.
His tongue leads mine. I follow.
I never follow anyone.
But tonight, I follow him.
And the realization sends a shiver through me. It’s strangely freeing to let someone else take control. To trust someone enough to do it.
And the world doesn’t fall apart when I do.
His hand slides to my throat; I don’t feel threatened. I feel held. His fingers tighten a fraction, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me he’s there. That we’re doing this. My breath catches as his fingers tense, then he releases, and I only want him more.
It’s been so long, I don’t remember being held like this. Years of no one are fading away with each kiss. A promised lifetime of solitude, impossible, as his body talks to mine.
I kiss him harder, losing myself in him for the moment, enjoying the intensity of the electricity between us. My hands drop lower on his shirt, popping the second button, then the third. Yearning to see more, and too impatient to wait. My body screams for his touch.
His breath hitches this time. His other hand settles on my waist, needy fingers digging into my skin, sliding further down until he cups my ass.
I don’t think.
I just move.
With one knee on either side of him, I straddle his lap, and his eyes pop wide. Blue. Burning. And beautiful enough to get lost in.
He pulls back slightly, chest heaving, both hands on my butt cheeks, pulling me downward. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was I,” I admit.
With the line crossed, I think, fuck it. Go all in.
I lean down and take his mouth with mine. Firm. In control.
I made the step. It’s up to me to push forward.
He grows beneath my legs. I feel him. But he surrenders to me.
I release the rest of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off over his shoulders. His hands move over my back, fingers drawing circles up and down my spine.
I rock gently, needing to be closer to him, wanting to feel him. What’s it going to be like within minutes when he’s inside me? I haven’t had a man inside me for a long time, and I haven’t wanted one until Ben.
I never expected this when I invited him over tonight.
I thought we’d maybe have a conversation, agree to be business partners. Repair some of the relationship, but put the rest on the back burner.
But when he got here, and I looked at him, standing in my apartment, the last thing I wanted to do was let him go. The last thing I wanted to do was not have him again. Not investigate what could be.
I knew letting him walk out of here would be the end. I’d never make the move again, not once the line was drawn. I was drawing it, now I’ve got my eraser in hand to rub it out. It’s dust.
“You’re full of surprises tonight,” he says. “But I like it.”
His eyes widen, pupils dilating.
I swallow, then kiss him again.
There’s nothing else to do.
“Shall we take this to the bedroom?” I ask him.
He laughs softly under his breath. “Are we at that stage already?”
“Yes,” I say. This isn’t what I had planned, but it’s what I need. Selfishly, or otherwise. Tonight, I want Ben to have all of me.
I shuffle from his lap, rising, unsteady on my feet.
He moves with me, then slides his shirt off his arms. It falls onto the sofa, discarded, exposing his muscular chest and abs that no middle-aged dad is allowed to have.
His finger slides under my chin, raising my eyes back to his.
He smiles. I blush at being caught looking so easily.
Then, I take his hand and lead him through to my bedroom.
It’s perfectly tidy as usual, bed made, pillows plumped to perfection. Nothing lying about. No shoes, no clothes, nothing. As we reach the door, I push it open.
“Are you sure?” he says. “This is fast.”
“I haven’t been more sure of anything in a long time.”
As we go to cross the door frame, his hands slip beneath my ass, lifting me onto his waist. I scream, taken off guard, but my arms find his neck with ease. He walks toward the bed, kissing me softly on my cheek, on my nose as we do so, then lays me down.
I lie on my bed, sunken into the Egyptian cotton, staring up at a man. The first time in a long time.
My knees drop open. He moves between my legs, lowering himself down on top, hands either side of my head.
“You’re stunning,” he says. “I don’t think you realize how captivating you are.”
He bends to kiss my forehead as his phone begins to ring in his back pocket. His eyes pop wide, one hand searching for the device, the other keeping balance. He pulls it out, stares at the screen, and grimaces.
“Liam,” he mutters. “Give me a minute.”
He doesn’t move, just answers the call above me. “What is it?”
There are garbled words on the other end of the line.
I grin up at him; he tries not to laugh. His knee pushes forward slightly, grazing between my legs. My blood heats, back arching. His smile widens. He knows just what he’s doing, and he’s enjoying it.
“Liam, just tell your brother I’m dealing with a situation,” he says. There’s a pause. “Once the situation is satisfied, I’ll be home.”
I laugh out loud. He fakes a scowl. What he’s about to do is going to take a lot longer than he thought, I think to myself.
Finally, after his teenage son is happy with his excuse, he ends the call and places the phone onto the bedside table. For a moment, the room is quiet again, the interruption fading as quickly as it came.
“Sorry about that.”
“That was smooth,” I say. “Telling your son you’re busy dealing with a situation.”
I bite back a smile. Only Ben could take a call from his teenage son while kneeling between my legs and sound completely serious.