Page 65 of Bitten & Burned
Not tonight.
I shifted slightly, lifting my head from his chest.
He looked down at me, his eyes calm, dark, unreadable in the low light—but I could feel what he wasn’t saying. The way he held still. Waiting.
I reached up. Touched his cheek.
Rough stubble met my fingers. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t lean in.
He just let me.
I rose up slightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. A question, not a demand.
He didn’t move.
So I kissed him again.
This time, on the mouth.
Soft. Slow. Testing. My hand slid to his jaw, anchoring me. His lips parted just slightly beneath mine, but he still didn’t deepen it. He was letting me decide how far.
How much.
How fast.
And gods—there was something unbearable in that. Howgently he held me, how much power he gave me just by not taking any for himself.
I leaned into him, kissed him again—longer, firmer.
He breathed out, quiet and shaky. The unsteady weight ofneed.
And, when I finally pulled back, he opened his eyes and looked at me like I’d just given him a gift he didn’t think he deserved.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly.
“I know,” I said. “But I wanted to.”
I didn’t move away. I stayed close, forehead resting against his.
His hand found mine, fingers tentative at first, then curling gently around my wrist. Like he was afraid to take too much, even now. As if he knew exactly how fragile my edges felt and didn’t want to press against them too hard.
I laced our fingers together.
He exhaled through his nose, and I felt it—warm against my cheek. His thumb brushed along my knuckles, slow and steady, grounding.
“You’ve been carrying too much,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
He pulled back just enough to see my face. His other hand came up to touch my hair, the back of his fingers ghosting along the side of my head. Soft, almost reverent.
“Let me hold some of it,” he said. “Just for a little while.”
A breath caught in my throat. I wanted to say yes. I think I already had.
“I didn’t mean to bond with all of you,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. No hurt in his voice. No bitterness. Just certainty.
