Page 62 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
She kissed him, fierce and unrelenting, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. For a moment, he kissed her back, just as fervent. But then he pulled away, too soon, leaving her groaning in protest.
“I can’t stop this,” she said, her voice shaky, her forehead resting against his.
“What about your father?” he asked, his tone measured but tight.
“Mood killer,” she muttered, her lips brushing his as she spoke.
“I just need to know the rules,” Lochlan said, his hands gently running down her arms.
“Why do there need to be rules?” She tried to hide the whine from her voice, but she felt desperate.
“Because I need them with you,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I need to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. What’s allowed. What’s not.”
She exhaled sharply, her hands gripping his shirt tighter. “I feel like I need to kiss you.”
“Why?”
His question caught her off guard, her chest tightening at the vulnerability in his tone. “Now you’re the mood killer,” she said, trying to deflect.
“Am I?” His voice was calm but insistent, his gaze unwavering in the dark. “Why, Nia?”
“Because I like you,” she admitted, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you, or that kiss, or the way you treat me. I need more, but…”
“But what?”
“But I can’t let him win.” Her voice wavered. “I can’t be married. But I want you.”
She saw the struggle in his eyes, the war he was waging within himself, and for a moment, she thought she’d lost him. Desperation clawed at her chest, and she offered more.
“No one has to know.”
“I’ll know.” His voice was strained, and she hated herself for being the one who put that look on his face.
“What if… we fake it?”
“I can’t fake this,” he said softly, fingers brushing the small of her back, grazing just above her ass.
“I know,” she said quickly, her words nearly tripping over each other. “But publicly. What if we prove him wrong in public, but behind closed doors we let things… grow?”
His brows furrowed, jaw tightening. “So you want to lie?”
“Just to him,” she said, her voice softening. “To you? No. Never.”
Something flickered across his face, too fast for her to read, and her heart sank again.
She pressed on, her voice trembling with sincerity. “I’ll be honest with you. I will try, but please, let me have this fight with my father. I won’t have it with you. I can’t… I don’t want to fight this.”
“Then we won’t,” Lochlan said, his voice low and certain.
He leaned in, his lips claiming hers.
This kiss was nothing like the first—no hesitation, no restraint. His hands slid down her body with a purpose that left her breathless, his fingers gripping her hips as if to anchor her to him. Her skirt bunched under his touch, and when his warm palms met her bare skin, it was as though he ignited something raw and wild within her.
A sound escaped her, somewhere between a moan and a gasp, as her body pressed closer, her hips moving instinctively against his lap. His responding groan was guttural, primal, a sound that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him deeper, harder, desperate to feel more of him, as if the sheer force of his presence could fill the aching void inside her.
His lips left hers only to blaze a trail down her neck, each kiss and nip leaving her trembling, her head tipping back to grant him access. Every inch of her skin felt alive, hypersensitive, the friction of his touch as intoxicating as it was maddening.
It was bliss. It was torture. She didn’t know where he ended and she began, didn’t care, until?—
