Chapter 21 #3
She was tired. Tired of life. Tired of being alone.
Tired of failing her child because of bureaucracy and the system and a whole host of things that always seemed to be stacked against her.
It would be so easy to fall into a woe-is-me mindset.
But that had never been her, and she didn’t want Kelsey to grow up seeing her shutting down when the going got tough.
She huffed a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”
Instead of answering, he jerked his chin toward the couch. The invitation was silent but unmistakable. Glenna hesitated—only a half-second, but long enough for him to catch it.
“Just sit.” As if he had figured out where her mindset was tonight, he tacked on, “You don’t have to carry everything all of the time. I’m here. Let me help you.”
She shouldn’t. She should be figuring out what to do next and how to do it.
But the exhaustion won out, and for once she wanted to matter too.
Was that so freaking wrong? She sank onto the couch, the cushions dipping beneath her weight.
Tyrone remained standing, arms crossed, studying her from beneath the fan of his dark lashes.
The silence stretched between them, charged with everything left unspoken.
Then he took a single step, and another, until he was close enough for her to catch the faint scent of his soap—something clean and masculine. He stopped just short of touching her, but close enough that she had to tilt her head to hold his gaze.
His hand lifted, and his fingers grazed the side of her neck, skimming the tense line of muscle there. Her breath stuttered.
“You’re wound tight.” His voice was rougher than she’d ever heard it.
“Long day.” She swallowed. “I’m not used to being hungover.”
“Mm.” His thumb stroked the column of her throat, tracing the flutter of her pulse. “I could help.”
Her lips parted to answer, but Tyrone didn’t wait for one. His touch firmed, tracing down to the slope of her shoulder. A groan slipped free before she could bite it back.
Tyrone smirked. “That’s it.”
She didn’t know where this could go between them. The right thing to do would be to stop this. But the heat of his palm branding her through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, the rough scrape of his callouses against the sensitive skin behind her ear—her lashes fluttered.
Tyrone shifted closer, his thigh brushing hers, as his fingers wandered higher, threading into the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back just enough to expose the vulnerable line of her throat. His breath was warm against her jaw. “Still tired?”
God, no.
His mouth hovered inches from hers, close enough to taste the mint on his breath, to feel the ragged exhale that shuddered out of him when her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
His control snapped, and he closed the distance between them. His lips slanted over hers with a hunger that burned straight through her. The kiss was all heat and teeth, nothing gentle about it. Glenna arched into him, her hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him down to her.
He went willingly. His body crowded her back into the couch, his weight pressing her into the cushions, one hand still tangled in her hair, the other braced on the armrest, caging her in.
She gasped when his teeth grazed her lower lip, her nails digging into the hard planes of his shoulders. Tyrone groaned against her mouth, the sound rough enough to send a bolt of heat straight to her core.
Then his hand slid down, skimming the curve of her hip, fingers flexing briefly before gripping the bare skin beneath her T-shirt.
Glenna shivered when Tyrone broke the kiss just long enough to rasp, “Tell me to stop.”
Was he crazy? Did he not see what he did to her? She yanked his shirt free from his waistband, her hands seeking the warmth of his skin, mapping the ridges of muscle along his stomach.
With a growl low in his throat, Tyrone caught her wrists, pinning them beside her head. His hips rolled against hers in a slow, deliberate grind that wrenched a moan from her throat.
“Quiet,” he warned, his lips at her ear. “Unless you want to wake Kelsey.”
The reminder shattered some of the haze. Her child was asleep just down the hall. Glenna forced herself to still, biting her lip hard enough to sting.
Tyrone watched her, his gaze dark, possessive.
Then his grip on her wrists loosened, his fingers trailing fire down her arms, over her ribs, skimming the underside of her breasts.
The bang of a door slamming somewhere outside jerked them apart.
His head snapped toward the sound, his body tense and alert, as he shifted to shield her.
Neither of them moved. The moment hung suspended between them, as fragile as spun glass. Glenna’s pulse hammered in her throat, her skin still humming where he’d touched her.
When Tyrone’s jaw tightened and he exhaled hard through his nose, she knew the moment was broken. He pushed to his feet, putting space between them. “I should go.”
Glenna opened her mouth to protest. Then snapped it closed again when she remembered all the reasons they shouldn’t continue. She nodded.
He hesitated for the briefest of moments as if he was second-guessing himself, then turned on his heel and left. The front door clicked shut behind him.
Glenna sank back into the couch, pressing her fingers to her swollen lips where his taste still lingered.
Damn.