“Yes,” she says.
I lean back slightly. “Then we stop.”
“No.” Her hand tightens on mine. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Want and fear are both loud right now.”
“I know.”
“Then I need you clear.”
Her eyes shine.
“I’m clear.”
I don’t believe her enough.
Or maybe I believe her and that’s the problem.
“Amelia.”
She stands, moving between my knees before I can stop her. Her hands go to my chest. I can feel the tremor in her fingers through my shirt.
“I want one night that is mine,” she whispers. “No Jeremy. No jail. No club. No court. No fear making the decision. Me.”
The words sink in deep.
Me.
That’s what she is asking for.
Not rescue. Not distraction. Not a man taking what she is too wounded to name.
Herself.
My voice comes rough. “You got me.”
That almost breaks her.
I see it.
Her face crumples for half a second, then she kisses me like she is trying to stop herself from crying with her mouth.
I should go slow.
I try.
For about one breath.
Then she makes a sound, and my hand goes to her waist, and the chair scrapes back hard enough to hit the wall. Shedoesn’t flinch. She steps closer, thighs pressing between mine, hands sliding up my chest, over my shoulders, to the back of my neck.
She pulls.
My control burns.
“Careful,” I warn against her mouth.
“I don’t want careful tonight.”