Page 12 of The Contract

And yet…

He doesn’t feel like every other man who’s looked at me like I was something to be had.

He’s looking at me like he’s daring me to choose him.

Just for tonight.

And God help me—I want to.

I want to forget about tomorrow. About the life I’m supposed to step back into. I want to let myself be selfish. Just this once.

I tilt my head slightly, giving him silent permission.

He takes it.

His lips find the curve of my throat, pressing deeper this time. His teeth graze, then soothe with his tongue—a slow, languid drag that sends a shiver rolling down my spine.

It’s not explosive.

It’s not rushed.

It’s controlled.

Every touch, every breath, measured—like the slow game of chess we’ve been playing all night.

Like he wants to savor me.

I turn in his arms, pressing my hands against the hard planes of his chest. His pulse beats steady and strong beneath my fingers.

There’s something dangerous about this.

The way I feel like I’m being worshipped.

Like he’s letting himself indulge in something rare—something he doesn’t usually allow himself.

The weight of that realization sinks deep into my bones.

He wraps an arm low around my back. His hand guides my head back as he pulls me against his hard body, and I don’t fight it.

I lift onto my toes as he lowers his mouth to mine, our eyes closing as he kisses me.

And it’s nothing like I expected.

Not greedy. Not devouring.

Just… deep.

Like he’s exploring. Mapping. Learning every inch of me through the press of our mouths.

Like he knows we only have this night, and he refuses to waste a single second.

I melt into him.

His fingers slip beneath the thin straps of my dress, dragging them down with excruciating slowness. Fabric pools at my feet.

His hands skim up my bare back, tracing, memorizing.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

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