Chapter Four #3
She faces me, eyes wide and dark, lips parted. Flour dusts one cheek. A stubborn little streak of pink frosting clings to the corner of her mouth.
I lift my hand and stop inches from her face. “Can I?”
Her gaze flicks to my fingers, then back to my eyes. “Yes.”
I wipe the frosting from the corner of her mouth with my thumb and her lips part wider. My thumb lingers. Every rational thought in my head falls silent. Then Holly rises onto her toes and kisses me.
It’s soft for half a second. Only half. Then the bond detonates.
I groan against her mouth, my hands locking on the counter on either side of her instead of her body.
Her fingers fist in my shirt, dragging me closer, and I go because I’m only so strong.
Her mouth is warm, sweet with sugar and frosting, and sharp with a need she has been fighting as hard as I have.
She kisses like she argues. Bold, defiant, a little mean, and completely addictive.
My wolf howls, demanding more, but I keep my hands firmly planted on the counter.
Holly notices. She pulls back just enough to breathe against my mouth. “You’re not touching me.”
“I’m trying very hard not to.”
“Why?” The question comes out confused and slightly insulted.
“Because if I start, I need to know you won’t regret it.”
Her eyes search mine before she takes one of my hands and places it on her waist, and my control fractures. Her body is warm beneath my palm. Soft and real.
Mine, my wolf snarls, but I shove him down because not yet. Not unless she says it. Not unless she wants the word. I kiss her again. Deeper this time.
She melts against me with a tiny sound that ruins whatever remains of my sanity.
My hand tightens on her waist, the other sliding up to cup her jaw.
I keep the touch careful, but there’s nothing careful about the way she presses closer, her breasts against my chest, her fingers gripping my shirt like she needs an anchor.
“Good girl,” I murmur before I can stop myself. “Just like that. You tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
She trembles and her scent spikes. That reaction nearly ends me.
“Daniel,” she whispers, cheeks flushed, eyes stunned.
Too much. Maybe not for her body. But for her heart.
I see the moment old fear creeps in around the heat. The sudden tension. The tiny hitch in her breath. The way her eyes flick toward the door even though she’s the one who kissed me.
I step back immediately. Every instinct screams in protest, and I ignore all of them. Holly blinks as if I have slapped her.
Pain cuts through her expression. “Oh.”
“No.” The word comes out too sharp. I soften it, even though my body is shaking. “No, Holly. That is not rejection.”
Her eyes glisten with anger or hurt or both. “You pulled away.”
“Because you got scared.”
Her mouth opens. Closes.
I take another step back, giving her space, even though the distance feels like tearing skin from bone.
“I want you,” I say, voice rough. “Goddess, I want you so badly I can barely stand upright. But I don’t want a kiss that leaves you feeling cornered after.”
Her face crumples for half a second before she controls it. It’s enough to gut me.
“I hate that you notice everything,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“It makes you hard to hate.”
“I’m devastated.” I give her a small smile and a watery laugh slips out of her.
There it is—the sound I want to keep earning.
Holly wipes at her cheek quickly, like she can erase the evidence of almost crying before I see it, and I let her pretend.
She takes a shaky breath. “I wanted to kiss you.”
“I know.”
“I’m not ready for more.”
“I know that too.”
“I might be one day.”
My chest goes tight, and I nod slowly. “Then I’ll wait for one day.”
Her eyes lift to mine, suspicious and hopeful and terrified all at once. “What if it takes a while?”
“Then it takes a while.”
“What if I’m difficult?”
I smile. “You’re difficult.” She glares, and I point at her gently. “But you’re not hard to want.”
The glare fades, and the kitchen goes quiet again. Not empty or awkward. Just full of things neither of us is ready to say.
Finally, Holly clears her throat. “You should go.”
I nod. “I should.”
This time, I actually move toward the door. At the threshold, I stop and look back. She’s standing beside the counter, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen from my kiss, flour on her skin and fear in her eyes. She’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“Tomorrow?” I ask.
She hesitates, then nods. “Tomorrow,” she says.
I step into the alley and close the door behind me before my restraint snaps in half.
The night air is cool, but it does nothing to calm the heat in my blood. I brace one hand against the brick wall and drag in a breath that still tastes like her while I adjust my absurd erection.
My wolf paces, restless and furious. Mate.
“Yes,” I rasp. “Our mate.”
But not ours to claim. Not yet.
Holly asked for slow. So slow is what I’ll give her. Even if it kills me.
Behind the door, I hear her laugh softly to herself, a small disbelieving sound, and my mouth curves. Maybe slow will not kill me. Maybe slow is the first thing I have ever done right.