He doesn't open the door so much as damn near rip it off the hinges. And for the first time in hours, our eyes lock. His are my favorite shade of dark denim, boring into me like he never wants to look away.
"Hi," I whisper, my voice shaking. "Um…can we talk?"
He holds the door open without a word, stepping aside for me to enter.
His heat sears into me as I duck under his arm, keeping my gaze carefully away from the bed, just so I don't remember the way he fucked me all over it last night after dinner.
The door closes behind him. We stand in silence for a moment, just staring at each other. He's so damn beautiful, it hurts to look at him. It hurts not to be in his arms right now, too.
I don't know where to start, so I just…do.
"You were right this morning," I blurt. "I was running."
"I know."
"I wasn't even thinking any of what I said until I started dancing," I whisper, clenching my hands together. "And then I saw the way you were watching me." I lick my lips, my heart pounding against my ribcage. "No one watches me like you do, Harlan."
"How's that?"
"Like you see me," I say. "Like you can't see anything but me." My hands shake even though they're clenched so tightly my nails score my palms. "I've never been enough until you. You make me feel like maybe I finally am. I don't know what to do about that." Tears well in my eyes, burning. "I don't want to break you or me."
He's silent for a heart-stopping moment and then takes a step toward me, his expression softening just enough to give me hope. He gives me even more when he reaches for my hands, gently untangling my fingers.
"You think I don't know why you're running? I know. I feel you here, ballerina." He drags my hand up to his head, pressing my fingers to his temple, and then pulls it down, flattening my palm to his chest, right over his heart. "And right here. I know, the same way I know you wait up after my games to say congratulations if we win or to tell me the refs are morons if I end up in the box. I know, the same way I know you never back down because it feels like losing, and you pretend nothing bothers you because it's the only way to protect the softest parts of yourself. I know because I love you."
I choke on a sob, my fingers clenching in his shirt, like I can anchor myself to him if I just hold on tightly enough.
"You can't break me, baby," he murmurs, cupping my jaw. "Every piece of me is yours. It was builtfor you. I knew it four months ago. I've just been waiting for you to stop running and let me love you."
"I don't want to run anymore, Harlan."
"I know, ballerina. I know." He tugs me into his arms and then boosts me up onto the edge of the small dining table, stepping between my legs. His lips brush mine in a soft kiss that feels life-sustaining. Hell, maybe it is. "You wouldn't be here right now, crying your eyes out otherwise."
"I'm scared."
"Of loving me?"
"Of losing you." My bottom lip quivers. "Of you deciding I'm not good enough or that I'm too much. Of being half a damn continent away from you. Of not having you right here, just like this."
"You think I won't be with you every chance I get, Sophie?" He's shaking his head before he even finishes speaking. "Fuck that. Doesn't matter if I'm signed in LA and your life is in Chicago. My life is with you. We'll make it work until I'm able to force a trade. You're mine, ballerina. I'll move mountains for you."
The conviction in his voice and the determination in his gaze sink deep, unraveling every knot of fear left.
The need to touch him, to feel him all over me again, is immediate, eclipsing everything.
I fist my hands in his shirt, yanking him into me as if I can fuse us together. My mouth crashes against his, desperate to taste him again.
He groans, his hands gripping my thighs like he's just as desperate as I am.
My legs wrap around his hips, dragging him closer. When he lifts me off the table like I weigh nothing, I gasp into his mouth, clinging to his neck as he carries me across the room.
I expect the bed, but he drops to his knees at the foot of it, cradling me in his arms like I'm something precious.
"You understand what you do to me?" he rumbles, biting gently at the curve of my thigh. "How much I love you?" He tugsat my leggings, his hands rough and reverent at once, and then he's pushing the thin fabric of my panties aside before his tongue slides over me.
I cry out, my fingers tangling in his dark hair to ground myself. The first pass of his tongue is slow, almost lazy, but the second has me arching up, my entire body a live wire. I'm embarrassingly wet, but he just growls and buries his face between my legs, eating me with ruthless focus.
"I can't…I can't," I gasp, the pressure building so fast, I feel dizzy. I've come for him before, but never like this, the pleasure so intense it's almost pain. I think it might rip me in half.