Page 14 of Burned in Stone
“I don’t bolt.” The protest sounds weak even to me.
“No?” He aligns his nose with mine, lips so close that I can feel his words as he speaks. “What do you call it then?”
“Self-preservation.” The truest thing I’ve said all night. Because that’s exactly what this is—preserving myself, preserving him, preserving this fragile peace that I can’t bring myself to let go of.
He pulls back. A brief flash crosses his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration—but it disappears before I can process it fully. He shifts his grip and draws me so close I can feel his erection pressing against my stomach.
This is the part where I usually diffuse the situation. I make a joke, step back, find some task that suddenly needs doing. But tonight, I can’t seem to move. Three months is a long time to resist when every nerve in your body is begging you to give in.
“Still scared of getting too close to the big bad biker, Mercy?” His voice is soft now, serious in a way that makes my chest tight. “Think I might ruin you?”
Yes.
“No.”
“Liar.” The word is a warm puff of air against my lips. He knows. Of course he knows. This man sees straight through the flimsy walls I keep rebuilding. His thumb hooks under the waistband of my skirt, tugging just enough for his fingers to slide beneath, tracing the sensitive skin at my hip. My body betrays me, arching into his touch—a silent plea for more.
“You’re not afraid I’ll ruin you,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing along my jaw, igniting a trail of fire down my neck. “You’re afraid you’ll like it.”
I’m afraid of falling so far into you that I’ll forget how to climb back out. That I won’t be able to leave when my past catches up.
I push my hands against his chest and step back. Every ounce of control I have. “I’m afraid of making stupid decisions at two in the morning,” I tell him instead.
“Being with me is stupid?”
“Being with anyone is stupid.” The words burst out too fast, and I take a steadying breath, stepping around to the other side of the bar. “Listen, I’m good at a lot of things, Cash, but relationships isn’t one of them.”
He just smirks. “Who said anything about relationships? Maybe I just want to make you scream my name until the sun comes up.”
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly. “Charming.”
“I can be charming.” He leans on the bar, flashing that movie-star smile the guys in the MC give him shit about. “I can also be exactly what you need, when you’re ready to admit what that is.”
My hands land on my hips. “And what do I need, oh-wise-one-who’s-six-years-my-junior?”
His brows shoot up. “Oh, we’re throwing my age in my face now?”
“When it suits me, yes.” I try for a smirk, but it feels flimsy.
He pushes off the bar, rounding the corner in two silent strides that have me backing up until my ass hits the edge of the sink. He plants a hand on the stainless steel on either side of my hips, caging me in.
“Old enough to know what I want,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that I feel in my bones. “And I want you.” His gaze drops to my mouth, a heavy, hungry look that makes my stomach clench. “You need someone who sees through your sass to the woman underneath. Someone who won’t let you run when things get real. Someone who’s been waiting patiently for fuckingmonthsfor you to stop being so damn scared of what youknowwe are.”
“I’mnotscared.” I’m full of shit, and the look in his eyes tells me he knows it too.
The air between us feels too heavy, too intimate.
My sleeve tattoo becomes the only thing I can look at. I got it as an act of willful defiance against my past—ink to celebrate my freedom, covering skin that used to be picked apart and criticized with something that feels beautiful.
He lifts a finger, tracing the outline of a black rose on my forearm, his touch impossibly gentle. “You remind me of a rose,” he murmurs. “Beautiful, but covered in thorns that keep anyone from getting too close.” His thumb strokes the inked petals on my skin, sending shivers up my arm. “I’m not afraid of getting pricked, angel.” His other hand comes up, cupping my jaw, hiscalloused thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “I just want to see you bloom.”
Bloom.The word steals the air from my lungs. Sometimes Cash sees too much, understands too much. Like he knows there’s more to my story than just rolling into Stoneheart twelve months ago with a car full of clothes and a résumé that didn’t mention the teaching degree I’ve never used.
Two years ago, I finally left Gabriel. The first night I was truly free, I sat on a motel bed and ate an entire pizza by myself, crying with every bite because no one was there to count the calories or pinch my waist or tell me I’d let myself go. But freedom was fragile. He kept finding me. So I bounced from town to town until I realized the only thing Gabriel hated more than losing control was looking weak.
That’s what led me here—to Stoneheart. A town wrapped in leather and reputation, where I could disappear in plain sight. I planted myself close to the one thing I knew would make him keep his distance: the MC. And it worked. It’s the longest I’ve stayed anywhere since leaving him. Even now, with him still watching, this place feels like the first breath of safety I’ve had in years.
But safety isn’t the same as freedom. Gabriel’s goal was always to prune me back, to keep me small and contained in a pot of his choosing. Cash… he wants to plant me in the sun and let me grow wild.
