I try to resist, to insist we talk first, but on the next caress of his tongue I taste his fear of losing me, his need to protect me, and yes, possession. He wants to possess me right now, I feel it in every part of me, and I know it’s driven by a need to protect me. Because I’m a part of him, as he is of me, and those things undo me. Those things take me to a place that I can only go with him, an escape I would never dare allow myself without him. I sink into the kiss, arching into his body.
He tears his mouth from mine, our gazes colliding, and he repeats, “I love you, woman.”
“I love you, too,” I say, emotion welling in my throat, while his hands slip under my sweater, warm, right, and he eases it upward, pulling it over my head and tossing it away.
“Isn’t Adriel waiting for us?” I ask, sounding as breathless as I feel. “We need to deal—”
He kisses me again, another deep slide of tongue against tongue that is over too soon before he declares, “Adriel can wait. I cannot.” He says those words with a low rasp to his voice that leaves no question that he means them, his fingers trailing down my cheek and settling at the center clasp of my nude bra, which he unhooks.
“I can’t do us halfway, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m yours and I’m not going to let you get hurt. You’re just going to have to deal with what that means, if I’m what you want.”
My hands go to his as they cover my breasts. “I don’t want halfway either,” I say. “I just—”
“You just what?” he asks, leaning in to press his cheek against mine, his fingers teasing my nipple, tightening it into a hard, sensitive knot.
“I just want to . . . ” He gives my nipples gentle tugs and I swallow against the sensations rolling through me, before I manage to finish with, “ . . . do the right thing.”
He goes still for a moment, his breath warm on my neck, his hands bracketing my waist. “Do the right thing,” he repeats softly.
“Yes,” I say. “Do the right thing.”
He leans back to look at me, his blue eyes etched with shadows, and some emotion I cannot name. Seconds tick by that give me zero answers to what he’s thinking, and without a word or a response, he reaches over and pulls open a drawer before setting something next to me that I can’t see.
“What are you doing?” I ask, curious and confused.
He takes my hands and presses my palms together, never once looking at my naked breasts. “Lace your fingers,” he orders softly.
There is a sudden newly sparked erotic charge in the air and my nipples tighten again of their own accord. I do as he asks, and for a moment, his hands hold mine, the look in his eyes dark, unreadable, and for reasons I cannot name that reach beyond that charge in the air, my heart begins to race.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“You know I do.”
“I do know,” he surprises me by saying. “But though you say you know, too, I’m not sure you really do.”
“I do,” I insist. “I absolutely do.”
“Just know this. I would never betray you. I would never hurt y
ou. I would, as I have said, and will say over and over, die for you.”
“As I—”
“No,” he says roughly, his voice gravelly, affected. “Do not say you would die for me, because that is not what I want from you. Never do I want that from you.”
“I know you don’t want that,” I say, my voice now gravelly as well, “but you see, I feel what you feel. I can’t stand the idea of living instead of you, without you.”
“I don’t plan to let you.” His fingers flex around my hands. “Hold them right here.” He waits for my reply and I give a tiny nod, before he reaches beside me and produces a roll of masking tape, already tearing a long piece.
“What are you doing?” I ask again, my heart now skipping and racing, but by the time I start to pull my hands back, he’s already holding them.
“Aside from protecting your newly inked wrist by avoiding a tie that would be on top of it,” he says as he attaches one side of the tape several inches up my arm, “I’m proving a point.” He finishes wrapping my arms, then grabs the roll to pull off another piece.
“What point?”
He wraps more tape around my arms. “You can’t get free,” he says, tossing the roll over his shoulder. “I can do anything to you I want to do to you, and you can’t stop me. You could fight, but I’m bigger and stronger. Does that scare you?”
“No, it doesn’t scare me, but if I wanted to get free, I could fight. I’m good at fighting.”