Page 77 of The Verdict

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“Rhys…” Merritt blinked at me, confused. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” I rasped, sinking back on my haunches as she slid forward, her legs sliding off the bed until she sat straight in front of me.

Her soft hands framed my face, and I turned my mouth into the center of one palm, kissing it and inhaling deep.Lavender.

“What are you doing?” she repeated, her voice thick.

“Trusting you.” The heavy metal ankle monitor tumbled to the floor with a thud, and I inhaled like it was the first time air had reached the very bottom of my lungs in days.

I moved my hand around her neck and hauled her mouth to mine. One kiss. One taste. I just wanted to anchor myself to her for a single second, but as soon as my lips touched hers, that anchor pulled me under.

The kiss deepened. Stroke after stroke, our tongues tangled like the sea churned into the shore. No matter how hard I tried to pull away—to retreat from her—the wave of temptation and the tide of trust sent me rushing back.

“Hoping you’ll trust me,” I begged against the sweetness of her mouth, savoring the way she opened underneath me.

Her soft whimper was one more wall coming down. “I don’t know why…”

I drew back and found her eyes. “Because I want you. Your trust. Your fear. Your truth. I want you to know it’s safe.”

“So, you’ve freed me?”

I stood, a ripple of unease finding its way through me before I replied low, “To do whatever you want.”

Instantly, she was standing, too, her mouth fused to mine in a kiss that was more powerful than any before, leaving us both gasping and desperate by the time her hands found the hem of my shirt.

“I want you.”

I quickly removed my tee, still afraid for her to lift her arms up too high. It hadn’t even hit the floor before her small hands splayed over my chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from groaning, the touch catapulting lust through my veins.

“Merritt…”

She ran her fingers over my skin like she was charting my body for the very first time—mapping it as her own.

Chest. Shoulders. Biceps. Wrists. Hands.

She pulled one of my hands to her mouth, kissing the center of my palm in a way that made my dick go wild. And then her lips moved to my wrist—over my tattoo. Her tongue dragged along the inked flesh.

“You rub it when you’re worried,” she murmured.

My brows lifted, and something warm filled my chest. “Yeah?” I knew I did. A semi-conscious tic that had evolved after I’d gotten the tattoo.

She pressed her lips to the skin. “What are you worried about?”

My heart stumbled. “Forgetting.”

“Ryan?”

“No,” I croaked. “Forgetting the things he knew were important—forgetting about life.”

I’d heard of people using rubber bands and all kinds of things as a physical reminder to break habits. Rubbing my tattoo was mine: a reminder to not fall into the trap of missing out on life. I’d thought life was open roads, catching bad guys, and one-night stands.

But life was a risk.

Deep, bone-quaking risks. Risk of loss. Risk of love. Risk of betrayal. Risk of reward.

And I was willing to risk it all for her.

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