Page 25 of Worshiping Faith

And I don’t know what to do with that.

I’m supposed to take. Supposed to own. Supposed to make her mine and ruin her all at once.

But this? This is ruining me.

I pull back just an inch, just to breathe, but she follows, chasing my mouth like she’s not ready to let me go yet.

Like she’s already addicted. Like I’m not the only one falling apart here.

Holy shit.

I break the kiss with a ragged breath, forehead bumping against hers.

Her hands are still fisted in my shirt, and she’s not letting go.

Neither am I.

“Damn, Doc,” I whisper, my voice wrecked. “You kiss me like you plan to keep me.”

She just looks at me like she’s trying to figure me out.

I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or just confused as hell, maybe both.

But she’s still clinging to me.

My thumb drags over the corner of her mouth. Soft. So goddamn soft.

And then she kisses it. Gentle. Deliberate. Like I’m the treasure here.

Fuck.

“You win,” I murmur, catching her lip lightly with my thumb before I lean in.

I kiss her slow, just the bottom lip, savoring. I don’t rush. I don’t devour. I just take my time, trace her jaw, breathe her in, and holy shit, her hair. Warm sugar and something clean, sweet, intoxicating.

“I’ll brand your name wherever you want,” I whisper, my lips grazing just below her ear.

She shivers.

My new favorite thing.

“Can I keep you?” she asks. It’s quiet, almost timid, but the breathlessness in it?

Yeah. That damn near ruins me.

What the hell is wrong with her to want me? Is she broken like me?

I don’t even realize the thought has weight until it lands.

I’ll destroy anyone who ever hurt her.

Now I get it. The more.

I need to know her. Every piece, inside and out, so I can give her what she needs. Deserves.

“Yeah, but I’m not housebroken,” I say. Because I can’t even with this. The more. I don’t know how to do it, so I do what I always do. I deflect.

She laughs. Breathy. Fucking perfect.

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