Chapter 11 #2
“It wasn’t discipline. It was survival.” He met her eyes, letting her see the raw truth he usually kept buried.
“I couldn’t trust myself anymore. Every time I felt attracted to someone, I wondered if it was real or just instinct.
If I was seeing them or just seeing something I wanted to consume.
So I stopped looking. Stopped touching. Stopped letting anyone close enough to tempt me. ”
“And mating season?”
His laugh was humorless. “Hell. Pure hell. Every spring, I lock myself in the house for the worst week and white-knuckle through it. Cold showers, exhaustion, whatever it takes.” He paused. “But I’ve never regretted the decision. Not once in six years.”
She set her glass on the desk and stood. His whole body went rigid as she rounded the desk, coming to stand in front of him. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Close enough that her scent wrapped around him like a physical embrace.
“You said not once in six years.” Her voice was soft. “But?”
He couldn’t look at her.
“But nothing,” he ground out. “I made my choice.”
“Ben.” Her fingers gently brushed his jaw, and he flinched like she’d burned him. “Look at me.”
He didn’t want to. Looking at her was dangerous. Looking at her made him want things he’d sworn off, things that ended in hotel rooms and empty notes and the slow erosion of his soul.
But his eyes lifted to hers anyway, helpless against the pull.
“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Do you regret it now?”
The answer clawed up his throat before he could stop it.
“Yes.” The word came out raw and truthful. “Every single day since you moved in next door.”
Something flickered in her eyes—relief, perhaps, or the same terrifying hope that was trying to crack open his chest.
“Then stop running,” she whispered.
And she kissed him.
It wasn’t like the kiss against the fence post, desperate and overwhelming and out of control. This was slower and softer, her hands framing his face, her lips gentle against his, giving him time to pull away.
He didn’t pull away.
He made a sound in the back of his throat and then his hands were on her waist and he was pulling her into his lap and the world narrowed to just this—just her—just the sweet pressure of her mouth and the warmth of her body pressed against his.
She tasted like salt and lime, like sugar and vanilla, and he chased that taste deeper, his tongue sliding against hers.
She moaned into his mouth in a way that made his control fray at the edges.
His fingers sank into the soft curves of her ass, pulling her tighter against his throbbing cock, and the sweet scent of her arousal filled the air.
He growled, a low, possessive sound, and she gave a soft gasp in response, pulling back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were dark, her lips swollen and glistening.
“I want you,” she whispered, her voice husky.
It was an invitation, a challenge, and the discipline he’d cherished for six years, finally shattered completely.
He stood up in one swift motion, keeping her in his arms, and she gasped as her legs automatically wrapped around his waist. He pinned her against the office door, the hard wood rattling in its frame.
The barrier between them and the rest of the tavern, between this stolen, private moment and the world outside, felt flimsy and inadequate.
He kissed her again, all the gentleness gone, replaced by raw, primal need.
He wasn’t thinking about the past, about the women in hotel rooms, about the empty ache that had haunted him for years.
He was only thinking about her. About the soft sounds she made when he bit down gently on her lower lip, about the way her fingers tangled in his fur, about the scent of her arousal filling his lungs.
He couldn’t stop touching her, tracing the curve of her spine and the soft swell of her hips before closing over her breast. She gasped again, arching into his touch, her nipple thrusting against his palm.
He lowered his head to her throat, nipping at the tender skin there, and she shuddered in his arms, her head falling back.
Her pulse beat against his lips like a trapped bird, frantic and alive.
The urge to bite, to claim, to leave a mark that would tell the world she was his, threatened to overwhelm him but somehow he managed to pull back.
More. The instinct pounded through him. Closer. Deeper. Mine.
“Sara.” Her name came out ragged. “We should stop.”
“Why?” She nipped at his lower lip, and his hips bucked involuntarily. “Give me one good reason.”
“Because I want you too much.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. They were dark with desire, her pupils blown wide, her lips swollen from his kisses. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Because if we keep going, I don’t know if I can stop. And I need—”
He cut himself off, jaw working.
“What do you need?” Her voice was gentle despite the heat still simmering between them. “Tell me.”
“I need to know this is real.” The confession scraped out of him like broken glass. “Not just instinct. Not just mating season making me crazy. I need to know that what I feel for you is me, not just my biology driving me towards the nearest warm body.”
Understanding dawned in her expression. He’d been terrified she’d be offended, but she looked thoughtful instead.
“Ben.” She cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to hold her gaze. “Do you think I’m just a warm body to you?”
“No,” he said immediately. “You’re… You’re everything. That’s the problem. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and I don’t know if that’s because you’re special or because my control finally broke and now I’m—”
“You’re not broken.” Her thumbs traced gentle arcs over his cheekbones, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch despite himself.
“I can’t hurt you. I won’t be that person again.”
“You’re not that person.” Her lips brushed his forehead—tender, almost reverent.
“The person you described, the one who burned through connections without caring? That person wouldn’t have stopped.
That person wouldn’t have been terrified of hurting me.
That person wouldn’t have spent six years rebuilding himself from the ground up just to prove he could be better. ”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” She pulled back, meeting his eyes steadily. “There’s a bar full of women out there. If your control has broken, wouldn’t one of them do?” They both felt him shudder, his body immediately rejecting the idea, and she smiled. “This isn’t about control. This is about fear.”
He winced, but he couldn’t deny it.
“I’m terrified,” he admitted.
“Good. You can be scared. But don’t let it make you run again.”
He wanted to believe her. God, he wanted to so badly it was reshaping his internal organs. But the fear was still there—the memory of who he’d been and the knowledge of how easily he could lose control.
“I need time,” he said, ignoring the need throbbing through his body. “To be sure. For you.”
She studied him for a long moment. He braced himself for anger, for frustration, for her to storm out and never look back. Instead, she smiled.
“Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay.” She climbed off his lap, and the loss of her warmth was almost physically painful. “You need time. I can give you time. But Ben?”
She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder with an expression that made his heart stutter.
“Don’t take too long. Spring is coming.” Her smile turned wicked. “And I’ve heard rabbit Others get very intense during mating season.”
The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving him alone in his office, his heart pounding and his body aching, but for the first time in six years, he let himself hope.