The bedroom was dead quiet, except for his breathing—heavy, ragged, and completely uneven.
She stepped closer, her body heat hitting him first. Slowly, her nails traced a path down his bare chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. When her fingers hooked into the heavy silver chain around his neck, the metal clicked loudly in the quiet. She didn’t yank it; she just held him right there, making the air between them too thick to breathe.
"You're shaking," she murmured.
She tilted her head up, catching his eyes—dark, guarded, and drowning in the exact same hunger she was feeling.
"I'm trying not to do something we can't walk back from," he rasped.
His voice was thick, rough around the edges, like his control was actively snapping. A slow, wicked little smile touched her lips. She gave the chain a tiny tug, pulling him down those last few inches until their lips were almost touching, sharing the same hot, desperate breath.
"Who says I want to walk back?"
"You have no idea what I'll do if I stop being careful."
"Then stop," she whispered.
Her breath brushed his lips, soft as a touch, completely wrecking whatever sanity he had left.
"Unless you're scared."
