Page 47 of Sanctuary

My frustration softens. “Your jeans are soaked. You’ll never get warm unless you take them off.”

“I know.”

“I’ll turn my back if you want me to.”

“I don’t care about that, love.”

“Then what’s the matter? Why aren’t you moving?”

He finally meets my eyes. Gives an ironic shrug. “I don’t even know. I guess I’m not used to anyone taking care of me.”

I make a choked sound. There’s a tug in my chest—at my heart—that feels like it’s tying me to him. Connecting us. “I know the feeling. But still. Take the jeans off or I’ll take them off for you.”

This amuses him enough to break through his stalled daze. He carefully strips off his wet jeans, his breath hitching a couple of times when he moves the wrong way.

He’s left in faded boxer briefs and his T-shirt. He looks at me quietly.

Swallowing over another surge of affection, I gesture toward the wood stove. “Try to get warmed up. I restocked my first aid stuff at the compound, so I actually have some supplies to use.”

He doesn’t answer, but he does as I say, moving over to sit down at the head of his makeshift bed, closer to the fire. I come over after I’ve gotten bandages, gauze, and even some antibacterial ointment.

I kneel beside him. Wash and tend to the large cut on his side. Then check the rest of his body and bandage a couple more shallower cuts.

His ribs are bruised. So is one of his knees. His hands are still freezing, despite our sitting several minutes next to the warmth of the fire.

I take one of his hands. Rub it gently between mine.

“Breanna,” he murmurs hoarsely.

“What?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

My eyes have been focused on our hands, but now they shoot up to his face.

He’s watching me soberly. “I know intimacy is difficult for you. It would be for anyone with your history. You don’t have to do it.”

I gulp over the tension in my throat and switch to rubbing his other hand. “It’s hard for you too, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s…” He takes a weird, ragged breath. “It’s terrifying.”

“So why aren’t you pulling away?”

He darts me a few more of those looks—half uncertain and half hopeful. “Because no matter how much I’ve been avoiding it, I can’t help but… want it.” He stares at me, breathing heavily. “Like all this time I’ve been running away, I’ve been running straight to you.”

I make a little sound in my throat, strangling on the waves of emotion. Then I can’t hold myself back anymore. I lean forward. Hold onto the side of his face with one hand. And kiss him.

He returns the kiss immediately. Eagerly. He grabs for my head and holds it in a tight grip as he moves his mouth against mine.

Excitement rises from my chest into my throat and then my head. My eyes and ears throb intensely as I part my lips when his tongue starts making advances. As soon as I open to him, his tongue moves all the way into my mouth, sliding against mine, triggering spirals of pleasure.

I shift my hand farther back, taking a handful of his hair and holding onto it. I push into him more enthusiastically, and he falls back onto his cushion, pulling me on top of him. Our prone position doesn’t break the kiss. It deepens it. I’m sprawled out on top of him, trying to get him closer, trying to suck his tongue even farther into my mouth.

He’s every bit as urgent and greedy as I am. His hands move down my body, sliding down my back until he’s gripping my ass. I’m still wearing my jeans and sweatshirt, but it feels like he’s touching my bare skin. My body—the whole world—is pulsingwith my heartbeat. My skin has flushed hotly, and an ache has tightened between my legs that’s impossible not to recognize.

Aidan is breathing heavily through his nose, and his body is tensing. Hardening. The bulge of his erection grows against my hip. He occasionally makes a sexy sound into the kiss—a hoarse, hungry groan that’s completely unlike his typical clever nonchalance.

It’s like he’s so into this—into me—that he can’t help giving it voice.

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