Page 34 of Cold as Stone
“I already do,” I laugh, glancing down at my now-speckled jeans.
She makes a break for the main bar, and I catch her around the waist, spinning her around as she shrieks with laughter.
Her back hits the wall as I pin her in place, our faces inches apart. “Surrender?”
“Never,” she declares, but her voice has lost its edge, going soft and breathy.
Time seems to slow. I’m suddenly acutely aware of every point of contact between us, my hands on her waist, her palms against my chest, the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her overalls. Her eyes, wide and golden in the dim light, drop to my mouth.
And something in me snaps.
Every moment since she walked back into Devil’s—every heated glance, every challenging word, every time I caught myself watching the sway of her hips or the curve of her smile—crashes through me like a wrecking ball. The control I’ve been clinging to shatters, and I’m moving before I can think better of it.
My mouth finds hers in a kiss that’s nothing like the careful, measured way I’d imagined doing this. It’s raw, primal. A claiming. My fingers tangle in her hair, tilting her head back as I devour her, months of pent-up want breaking free at once. Her surprised gasp melts into a moan that vibrates through me, setting fire to my blood.
I press her harder against the wall, one hand sliding down to grip her hip, keeping her pinned against me. Her body is soft, yielding yet demanding as she arches into me, her hands fisting in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll stop if she lets go.
God, she tastes amazing. Like whiskey and desire and everything I’ve been denying myself since she came back to town. I can’t get enough. I deepen the kiss, my tongue tangling with hers in a battle for control neither of us seems interested in winning.
It’s only when she makes a small, breathless sound that reality crashes back in. I tear my mouth from hers, breathing hard, horrified at how completely I just lost myself.
“Fuck,” I mutter, taking half a step back. “Kya, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
I run a hand through my hair, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “That was… I shouldn’t have…”
She stares at me, her lips swollen from my kiss, her eyes wide and dark with desire. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful, or more terrifying in what it makes me feel.
“Tell me to stop,” I manage, giving her an out, giving us both a chance to pretend this never happened. “If you want me to stop, just say the word.”
Instead, she curls her fingers into my shirt and pulls me closer.
“Shut up,” she murmurs against my lips. “For once in your life, just shut up and kiss me, Lee.”
I do. God help me, I do.
This time it’s not a moment of lost control or a mistake. It’s a choice—deliberate, intentional. Her hands slide into my hair, holding me to her as the kiss deepens, grows hungrier. I press her against the wall, lifting her, and her legs wrap around my waist, bringing us impossibly closer.
The paint on our hands and clothes is probably smearing everywhere, but I couldn’t care less. All that matters is the heat of her mouth, the softness of her skin beneath my palms, the small sounds she makes when I trail kisses down her throat.
Her heat presses against me, separated only by two too-thin layers of clothing and a whole lot of bad decisions. I rock into her once—just to feel her. Her breath catches, her nails dig into my shoulders, and that’s it. I lose the last shred of restraint.
I grind into her slowly, deliberately, pinning her harder to the wall with each roll of my hips. Every time I move, she gasps like it’s a surprise, like she didn’t think this would feel this good. Thisright.
I feel the exact moment her control snaps. She arches into me, moaning my name like a broken prayer. I grip her thighs tighter, help her ride the tension, every breath from her lips pulling me deeper.
Kya grinds against me, desperate and deliciously demanding, her breasts pressing into my chest with each roll of her hips. The sounds she makes—needy, breathless, raw—drive me half mad. I dip my head, dragging my mouth across her collarbone, tasting sweat, paint, and Kya.
She gasps again, her body tightening in my arms. She’s close. I can feel it in the way her nails dig in, the frantic arch of her hips, the whispered fragments of my name spilling from her lips.
“That’s it,” I murmur, voice rough with hunger. “Let go for me, Kya. I’ve got you.”
She breaks against me, the climax tearing through her in waves I feel as much as see. Her whole body shakes, her breath hitching as she buries her face in my neck.
I hold her through it, every muscle in my body screaming to take this further, to let go and get lost in her the way I’ve wanted for years. But I don’t. I can’t.
Not like this. Not when she deserves more than a wall and a fuck-ton of regret in the morning.
Slowly, gently, I ease her down, her legs shaky as they touch the floor. She leans into me, still trembling, and I press my lips to her forehead, forcing my own ragged breathing to slow.
