Page 79 of Arrogant Puck

But my rational side knows better. Being wrapped up in someone like Slater—someone with that much intensity, that much darkness—would shred me to pieces. He doesn’t have the capacity for the kind of love I think I need. I don’t need to be someone’s possession, don’t need to be controlled or pressured into anything.

I need someone simple and kind. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

But even as I think it, I question the notion. Someone simple and kind wouldn’t be able to handle me and all my demons. They wouldn’t understand the nightmares, the way I flinch at unexpected touches, the walls I’ve built so high I’m not sure I remember how to tear them down. I don’t have a family back home who would pay for a wedding or even attend one. I can’t marry the captain of the hockey team.

But I sure as hell could fall for the most damaged one.

“Kiss me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “If you don’t... If you don’t like it, I’ll back off.”

There it is. Underneath all his hard exterior, he’s trying to be sweet. He’s offering me control, giving me an out. But is he using his kindness as a weapon? Is this just another way to get what he wants?

Our eyes lock, and the intensity is almost unbearable. I can see everything in his gaze—the want, the restraint, the careful hope he’s trying to hide. He’s letting me see him, really see him, and it’s terrifying and beautiful and overwhelming all at once.

“My ex...” I trail off, not sure how to explain the minefield in my head.

He lifts my chin with gentle fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’m not him.”

I can’t argue with that. Slater is nothing like Tyler—where Tyler was charming and manipulative, Slater is direct and intense. Where Tyler hid his darkness behind a smile, Slater wears his on his sleeve.

“Trust me, baby,” he continues, his thumb tracing along my jawline. “I’m usually not the kind of man to ask for anything, but with you…”

“Why change for me?”

His expression softens, and when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Because my demons see yours.”

My stomach drops as I search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception. But all I see is sincerity, raw and unfiltered. He’s being real with me in a way that makes my chest ache.

“I’m nothing special, Slater. I’m more fucked up than the rest of them.”

He pulls me into his arms then, and his embrace is warm and solid and safe. “I don’t believe that, and you shouldn’t either.”

His scent consumes me—something clean and masculine with an edge of danger that should scare me but doesn’t. I lean into him, letting myself have this moment of comfort.

He kisses the top of my head, and the gentle gesture makes my legs feel like jelly. I look up, resting my chin on his chest, and see something in his eyes that takes my breath away.

“Kiss me then,” I whisper.

His lips hover over mine, barely a whisper of contact. He’s teasing, luring me in, but neither of us presses forward. We exist in this shared breath, this moment is suddenly my favorite thing. The intense urge to lean forward is compelling, but…

“Slater,” I breathe, my lips brushing against his. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he murmurs against my mouth. “You don’t have to be. I got you.”

Then he leans in, pressing a full kiss against my lips, and it’s intoxicating. His lips are soft and warm, moving against mine with a gentleness I didn’t expect from someone so intense. When his tongue flicks against mine, a small sound escapes my throat.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts me up, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. I moan into his mouth, lost in the sensation of being held, wanted, consumed by someone who sees my darkness and isn’t running away.

He pulls back suddenly, breathing hard. “Holy fuck,” he murmurs against me.

“What?” I ask, my voice breathless and confused.

“That noise you just made.” His eyes are dark with something that makes my stomach flutter.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I can’t meet his gaze. The sound had escaped without my permission, raw and needy in a way that makes me feel exposed.

He carries me the few steps to the bed and lays me down gently. Then he just stares at me, taking in every detail—my flushed face, my racing pulse visible at my throat, the way my chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath.

I watch him watching me, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I’m sure it might actually shatter. There’s something reverent in his expression, something that makes me feel beautiful and terrifying and completely out of my depth.

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