17. Rose #3
“Everyone in this house keeps treating me like I’m a sleeping bear they poked awake that they expect to maul them.” He uncrosses muscled arms that I have had far too many fantasies of wrapped around me, circles my wrist and tugs me closer, bending his head to say into my ear. “I. Don’t. Care.”
“And any other men?”
“Other men are not pack.” His expression hardens, a bear-like growl creeping into his voice. “Then I would definitely care.”
He crowds me, literally herding me into one corner of the room.
And the weird thing, the absolute batshit-crazy part of it all, is that I don’t mind.
I gasp as my back bumps the wall.
And then he’s right there, a second later, bending his head. A featherlight kiss skims my pulse. My heart leaps up my throat as my panties dampen.
He drags in a deep breath and lets out the sexiest groan I’ve heard in my life as I feel his cock hardening against my lower belly. “Fuck. You smell so damn sexy, Rose.” With a frustrated groan, he steps back, and his hands fall away from my hips. “You should go.”
I stare at him like a brainless twit, my body anticipating all the illicit things he intended to do to me when he got me into this corner. “Go?”
His eyes are pointed downward, at the floor, and there’s a bulge in the front of his pants. “I told you I was giving you space and time. I meant it. And now… now I’m having trouble keeping my hands to myself. You’re not ready for that, so you need to go.”
He’s breathing hard, his hands shaking slightly, a testament to his honesty. And he still won’t look at me, as if one glance is all it would take for his control to snap.
Am I crazy for not rushing out of this room and instead wanting to poke a sleeping bear awake?
Head down, his fists clench. “You’re not leaving, sweetheart.”
“I think I want you to kiss me, Murph,” I whisper.
His chest rises and falls. His fingers spasm, but he still won’t look at me. “Think?”
I keep wanting to run from my feelings and embrace grief again.
But I left Memphis to escape it, not to bring it with me.
Every day, I fight a battle with my pain, and every day, it gets a tiny bit easier not to want to collapse with it as I did before.
For the first time, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and I want to reach toward that warmth heating my cold bones from the inside out.
“Need.” My heart pounds with anticipation. “I need you to kiss me, Murph.”
Slowly, his head lifts. His eyes lock on mine, probing, hungry, and his fingers unclench. “Be sure about this, sweetheart,” he says, his voice a rasp as his chest continues to rise and fall.
Taking a breath, I release it as I move toward him.
I take another step.
Then another.
He never takes his eyes off me. He doesn’t so much as blink. But all that alpha energy, that potent need stretches across the inches that separate us, and prickles against my skin.
All this time, he’s been waiting for me to be ready.
I’m ready.
“You’re not kissing me,” I say, standing as close to him as I can get.
I jump, startled by his fingers brushing my right hip. “Waiting for you to change your mind. Hoping you won’t, but you can still walk away. This need I have for you… It’s a lot. I could hurt you. And this isn’t something I want to rush.”
“You won’t hurt me.” Some truths feel carved into my bones. That’s one of them.
His hands, strong and hard, tighten on my hips, tucking me closer as his head descends.
My first taste of Murph is electric. A firestorm and cyclone ripping me to pieces and putting me back together. My moan triggers something so possessively desperate in him that he has me up in his arms, pinned against the wall without any sense that I’d moved.
My legs slide around his hips without invitation. I tilt my head, part my lips, and swallow more of the rumbling groans he releases into my mouth.
And I rock my pussy over the bulge in his pants as his hands capture my wrists, lift them over my head, and he grinds his hips harder against me.
The kiss is as potent and perfect as I needed it to be, and I literally ache for him to tear the clothes from my body and cover me with his.
“Mommy!”
Every maternal alarm in me awakens, cooling my desire like plunging naked into an ice bath.
I break the kiss as Murph sets me down gently, steadying me when my legs shake, and taking a step back.
Heart lodged in my throat, struggling to breathe, I step around him. “I-I should go see—”
“Go,” he says gruffly. “I didn’t mean to…” He gestures toward the wall he had me pinned against.
I wait to hear what else he has to say. Ben’s voice came from further down the hall, probably in his bedroom or mine. Now that Murph no longer has me pinned to the wall, he’s not in danger of walking into anything explicit.
Murph rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Yeah, that’s a lie. I don’t regret a fucking thing.”
Cheeks burning, I whisper, “Neither do I.” As I hurry out to see what Ben wants, I peek over my shoulder to find Murph watching me, heat and amusement softening his gunmetal gray gaze. “Rain check?” I ask shyly.
That gorgeous grin, complete with the heart-stopping dimple in his right cheek, makes a reappearance, almost tempting me back for another luscious kiss.
“Without a fucking doubt, sweetheart.”