Page 33 of Citadel

“Y-yes. Yes. I think I do.”

“You think?”

“I know.” I’m so self-conscious right now I want to squirm, but I’m also excited. Exhilarated. Shuddering inside with something I’ve never felt before.

When he doesn’t move—just keeps scrutinizing me—it occurs to me that I’ve pushed too hard, gone too far, been too forward.

I thought he might want this too, but maybe I was reading into it.

Maybe he doesn’t have the same sense of connection that I do.

Maybe he doesn’t want that connection to go deeper.

Shit, I’ve made a fool out of myself. Embarrassed myself by acting needy and desperate. With a weird little whimper, I turn on my heel and run for the door.

I’ve mortified myself enough for any lifetime.

His legs are longer than mine and his stride faster. He beats me to the door and holds it closed with one hand. “Del.”

I can’t even turn around to look at him. I stare at the door, panting and trying not to cry. “It’s fine,” I manage to say. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to throw myself at—”

He lets out a choked sound and makes a move that somehow adjusts my body so he’s standing between me and the door, looking down at me. He raises my chin so I’ll meet his eyes. “You call this throwing yourself at me? One half-hearted offer and then immediately running away?”

“Half-hearted offer?”

“I wasn’t even sure you meant it.”

“I did mean it. I… I do mean it.”

“You want to fuck me? That’s what’s happening here? You want it for real and not out of some sort of misplaced gratitude or—”

“Gratitude? I don’t fuck men because I’mgrateful!”

I don’t actually fuck men at all. At least I never have. But I do want this now and not because Cole helped us out.

And it’s annoying that he’s making me explain myself. Why won’t he get going and kiss me?

“You’re sure?” There’s a different sort of tension on his face now. One I’ve only seen a couple of times before.

The only word I can think to describe it is… hungry.

Hungry.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I don’t consider myself a particularly feisty person, but for some reason Cole makes me one. “But you clearly aren’t, so get your ass out of my way so I can go—”

I don’t have a chance to finish my sentence. He grabs my face with both his hands and bends down far enough to kiss me.

It’s not what I’ve ever imagined for my first kiss. It’s not soft or gentle or sweet or careful. It’s hard. Hard and insistent and urgent—like he needs it desperately. Like water. Or breath.

It triggers an answering need inside me. My hands fly up to cling to the back of his neck, and my body stretches against the length of his. When I feel his tongue on my lips, nudging, stroking, I open my mouth instinctively so his tongue can slide all the way in.

It feels strange. His tongue all the way in my mouth. Deep and intimate and vulnerable and exciting. My own tongue moves of its own accord, matching the motion of his.

I don’t just feel it in my mouth. I feel it in the throbbing of my heart, the tightness of my nipples, the growing ache of my pussy.

Every stroke of his tongue makes me clench eagerly even though those body parts shouldn’t be connected.

The kiss goes on a long time, and his hands gradually become more presumptuous. At first he holds my head. Then they slide down to span the sides of my neck. Then one moves to cup my bottom. Until eventually he lifts me up against the bedroom wall, gripping my ass so my legs wrap around his middle.

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