Close enough that my body reacted before my mind could catch up—skin prickling, lungs tightening, pulse skidding.
The faint scent of cedar and leather wrapped around me, familiar in a way that hurt. Once, that smell had meant safety. Home. Sleep with my back turned and my guard down.
He lifted his hand slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
His thumb brushed beneath my chin, warm and steady, tilting my face upward until my eyes were forced to meet his.
His touch wasn’t claiming—it was grounding, anchoring, like he was making sure I was still here.
“Don’t think about it,” he said quietly.
“About what?” My voice betrayed me, thin and unsteady, the way it always got when I was standing on the edge of something dangerous.
“I know what the Albanians did to you.” His thumb stayed where it was, firm, solid. Not allowing me to disappear into myself. “I know how hard it is not to think about it. How it creeps in when everything goes quiet.”
My throat tightened.
“Is there anything I can do,” he continued softly, “anything at all—to take your mind off it right now?”
I swallowed, the motion tight and painful.
His face was so close I could see every detail—the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the faint scar along his jawline I had once traced with my fingertip under a Brooklyn moon, memorizing him like a promise.
My body betrayed me with humiliating speed. My nipples tightened beneath the thin silk of my pajama top, heat pooling low in my belly, sudden and undeniable.
The room felt smaller. The night pressed in around us, intimate and dangerous, heavy with unspoken want.
I tried to lower my head, to look away, to hide the flush creeping up my throat and into my cheeks.
His thumb refused to let me.
“Can I...” His voice dropped, roughened, barely more than a breath against my lips. “Can I kiss you?”
Something inside me fractured.
Not gently. Not slowly.
I surged forward, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric as I yanked him down to me.
My mouth crashed into his—hard, desperate, reckless. There was no hesitation, no permission left to ask.
He responded instantly.
One hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me in place as the other wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
He sucked on my lower lip, teeth grazing just enough to sting, devouring me like a man who had been starving far longer than he wanted to admit.
The kiss was brutal and tender all at once.
Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled. His low groan vibrated straight through my mouth and into my chest, and I felt iteverywhere. I kissed him back with equal hunger, like I could erase months of pain if I pressed hard enough.
Tears burned behind my eyelids.
They spilled over anyway, sliding hot down my cheeks, caught between us.
He still wanted me.