Page 35 of Surrender to Me
He’s changed too. Gone are the tactical pants and boots, replaced by gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. No shirt.
My breath catches in my throat.
I’ve seen him in fitted clothes all day, but nothing could have prepared me for this. His shoulders are broader than I imagined, tapering to a narrow waist.
Defined abs lead down to the waistband. There’s a tattoo over his heart—black ink that looks like text, though I can’t make out the words from here
Strong muscle moves under tanned skin marked with scars—a puckered circle on his left shoulder that could only be a bullet wound, thin lines across his ribs that speak of blades.
His dark eyes find mine, and the look in them makes my knees weak.
“Feel better?” His voice is rougher than usual.
“Much.” I’m proud of how steady I sound, considering my heart is racing. “The bath was perfect.”
His gaze travels over me slowly, taking in the way my damp hair falls around my shoulders. When his eyes meet mine again, there’s heat in them that makes my skin tingle.
“Good.” He moves toward me with his customary, predatory grace, stopping close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
My pulse thunders in my ears. I should step back, should maintain the distance between us. Instead, I find myself tilting my face up to his.
“Allie.” He reaches up, cupping the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my damp hair. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I know.” His thumb traces the line of my jaw, and I shiver at the contact. “That’s what makes it worse.”
He’s going to kiss me again. I can see the intention in his eyes, feel it in the way his body leans into mine. I should stop this. Should remember all the reasons why this is dangerous, why I can’t afford to let him get close.
But when his mouth slants over mine, warm and sure and perfect, I forget everything else.
This kiss is different from the one at his condo. That was stolen, interrupted, desperate. This is deliberate. Thorough. He takes his time, exploring my mouth like he has all night, like I’m something precious he wants to savor.
I melt into him, fisting my hands against his solid chest, anchoring myself to his strength. He tastes of chocolate and emotional threat.
And when his tongue meets mine, a tiny sound escapes me—part surrender, part plea.
He responds by pulling me closer until there’s no space between us, until I can feel every hard plane of his body against mine. His hand slides down my spine, settling at the small of my back, holding me to him.
I’m drowning in sensation. The feel of his skin under my palms. The way his mouth moves against mine, claiming and conquering. The heat of his body. The scent of him surrounding me.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his hands still tangled in my hair.
“Jesus, Allie.” His voice is strained. “What the fuck is this?”
I don’t have an answer. I don’t understand it any more than he does. All I know is that when he touches me, when he looks at me like I’m the only thing in his world, I forget why I should be afraid.
“I should go to bed,” I whisper, but I don’t move.
“You should.” His eyes open, meeting mine.
Still, we both remain in place, the atmosphere closing in around us.
“I can’t let you go alone.”
The words hang between us, heavy with promise and danger and want.
“Stryker—”
