Everything.
Nothing.
But this close, our lips inches apart, the current between us thrums with utter madness and I forget myself. I forget everything except his shallow inhale and the heat of his palms as he brings them to my waist.
I’m not touching him.
He’stouchingme.
Not reciprocating feels impossible, but the things I want to do are the things we absolutely can’t.
Biting his neck.
Tasting his skin.
Wiping the growing smirk off his handsome face.
I lean harder against him and the game of chicken expands. Mal’s thumbs skim my hip bones. He does that thing with his tongue and his lips and the obnoxious noise from the washing machine fades to nothing.
This room, it’s too small, too warm.
There’s no air. And Mal—he’s too fucking close.
Except, he’s not.
Iam.
For this to be over, I’m the one who has to move.
I don’t move. If anything, I lock in harder, an unconscious decision I should fight. But I don’t do that either, even as hishands slide over my stomach to a narrower grip and his thighs brush the scorched skin he’s left behind on my hips.
He’s right there, the space between us so minimal a breath of wind would crash us together. His gaze drops to my lips, a fleeting glance. But it’s a hammer blow to my pulse and a sharp jolt of heat coils in my belly.
I’m not going to stop him.
I’m not going to stopmyself, the ache of holding back already too much.
His skin calls to me. That neck. I angle my head, skimming past his mouth at the last possible second, and brush my lips down his throat.
“Fuck.”
Mal’s curse is so low I barely hear it.
But I feel it—that rumble in his chest, the tension in every sinew of his tall frame.
And fuck is right.
Because we can’t.
And even though we’ve never spelled outwhyto each other, we both love Jack enough to know it.
I draw back.
Mal allows it, his stare molten with the samewantI don’t bother hiding from him.
I let him see it. Let himfeelit.
Then I shut that shit down. “We can’t.”