Page 55 of The SEAL's Duchess
But inside, here, it was just them, sealed into a pocket of heat and hush.
His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, a simple caress. The touch should have been nothing. It wasn’t. Current blazed through her, fierce and undeniable.
God, she needed more of him.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded, because words would disintegrate under the weight of everything she felt. Better didn’t cover it. She was lit from within, all her sharp edges undone, and for the first time in forever, she didn’t want to fight it.
She wanted to give in.
He set the bowl aside and slid onto the couch beside her, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. The solidity of him made her breath stutter. He lifted the edge of the blanket, slowly drawing it down her shoulders. The shirt slipped with it, baring her collarbone.
Cool air kissed her skin.
Then his fingers were there, tracing the line where the shirt had fallen open. His touch was feather-light.
“You’re marked up,” he murmured, thumb ghosting over the bruise darkening her collarbone.
Before she could answer, his lips followed, pressing into the tender skin like her pain was his own. Like he could kiss it away.
Her breath caught. The sensation was almost too much—his mouth on her, his strength around her, the deep ache low in her belly.
She should pull back but didn’t.
Every nerve leaned toward him, desperate for more.
She wasn’t just safe here.
She was wanted.
Desired.
And God help her, she wanted him just as much.
“Is this really happening?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Her chest cinched tight. Tears burned hot.
Ryder froze, pulling back instantly, concern darkening his features. “Hey?—”
“I’m not upset.” She heeled her palms against her eyes, emotion pressing too close. “I just never imagined this would actually happen. That you would?—”
His hands framed her face, thumbs wiping away the dampness on her cheeks. Then he kissed her—soft, sure, devastatingly real. “It’s happening, Ivy,” he murmured against her mouth.
She broke away, breathless. “We shouldn’t. None of this makes sense.” But even as she said it, her body leaned into his, drawn by a magnetic pull she couldn’t fight.
“I know.” His mouth found hers again, hungrier, stealing the rest of her protest. “Don’t care.”
Her fingers fisted in the front of his shirt, dragging him closer. She kissed him back with a desperation that shocked her, gasping into his mouth when his tongue tangled with hers.
Desire flooded her veins, potent and dizzying, like whiskey on an empty stomach. He was everywhere—his scent, his power, the quiet groan when she opened for him. Every kiss stripped her down until she felt alive in a way she’d forgotten was possible.
The blanket slid away. His hands skimmed her ribs until his lips touched the beat of her pulse at the crook of her neck. She sighed, tension bleeding out of her. With Ryder, she didn’t have to calculate or guard.
She could just be.
He paused, breath ghosting across her skin. “We should stop. You’re hurt. You need to rest.”
“No.” She dug both her hands into the softness of his hair, bumping her forehead to his. “I’ve been sleepwalking for years. And I’m just waking up. Don’t stop.”
