I move closer, sitting beside him on the floor, our backs against the couch. "Do you remember anything else?"
"No. Just the feeling of betrayal. Like my chest was being ripped open." He turns to look at me, and the vulnerability in his expression makes my breath catch. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"You didn't."Lie. "Well, maybe a little. But I'm okay."
We sit in silence for a moment, and then he reaches out and pulls me against his side. I should resist. I should maintain distance. Instead, I curl into him, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow from its frantic pace.
"Stay," he murmurs against my hair. "Please."
I should say no. I should go back to my bedroom, lock the door, and remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Instead, I nod against his chest.
He shifts us both onto the couch, his back against the cushions, me tucked against his side. It's a tight fit, but neither of us seems to mind. His arm wraps around me, holding me close, and I feel the tension slowly drain from his body.
I'm not sure who moves first. Maybe it's him, tilting my chin up. Maybe it's me, rising to meet him. But suddenly, we're kissing, and it's nothing like the tentative kiss from before. This is desperate and hungry, weeks of tension finally breaking free.
His hand slides into my hair, angling my head for better access, and I open for him, tasting mint toothpaste and something darker, more primal. My hands find his chest, feeling the rapidbeat of his heart beneath my palms, and he groans into my mouth.
He rolls us so I'm beneath him on the couch, his body covering mine, and the weight of him feels right in a way that should terrify me. His mouth moves to my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point, and I arch into him with a gasp.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my skin. "Tell me this is a bad idea."
"It's a terrible idea." My hands slide under his shirt, finding hot skin and hard muscle. "The worst."
He lifts his head, his gold eyes searching mine. "Then why aren't we stopping?"
"Because I don't want to." The admission feels like jumping off a cliff. "Do you?"
"No." He kisses me again, slower this time, thoroughly. "I want you so badly, I can't think straight. But I don't want to hurt you. I don't know who I am, what I've done. I could be anyone."
"I know." I cup his face, feeling the rasp of his beard against my palms. "I don't care."
That's all the permission he needs. His hands find the hem of my thermal pajamas, and I lift my arms so he can pull it off in one quick move. His eyes darken as he takes in my body, and I feel beautiful under his gaze despite my practical cotton bra and the fact that I haven't bothered with makeup in three years.
I reach for his shirt, and he helps me remove it, wincing slightly when the movement pulls at his healing shoulder. The reminder of his injury makes me pause.
"Your shoulder. We shouldn't."
"My shoulder is fine." He kisses me again, his hands moving to my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples through the cotton.
We shed the rest of our clothes with fumbling urgency. When we're finally skin to skin, I take a moment to just look at him. He's beautiful in a dangerous way, all hard muscle and old scars, his body a testament to violence survived.
He positions himself over me, his weight on his good arm, and I feel him hard and ready against my thigh. But when he tries to enter me, he gasps in pain, his shoulder protesting the position.
"Damn it." Frustration colors his voice.
"Wait." I push gently at his chest. "Let me."
I guide him onto his back and straddle his hips, taking control. His hands immediately find my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as I sink down onto him slowly. We both groan at the sensation, the perfect fit of our bodies.
"Fuck, Maya." His head falls back against the couch cushion, his eyes closing. "You feel incredible."
I start to move, finding a rhythm that works for both of us, and his hands guide my hips, helping me ride him. The firelight casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw.
"Look at me," I whisper, and his eyes open, locking onto mine.
The intensity in his gaze steals my breath. He watches me move above him, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts, and the pleasure builds between us like a storm gathering strength.
"I'm close," he warns, his voice rough.