Page 105 of Tender Heart

What?

My face twists, and I gasp around my indignation.

He sweeps another digit through my center. The part of me that wants him badly overrides any thread of self-respect or dignity left in this oxygen-starved brain of mine.

“My pussy is yours,” I finally grind out.

My need flares hotter.

“Not enough. Keep going.”

My mouth parts. I grapple for air.

“Mybodyis yours.”

“More.”

“M-my mind, yours.”

Every inch of me trembles.

His face turns pained. “Still not enough.” His chest heaves, its manic rhythm matching my own.

“Hear—” I choke around a sob as tears burn behind my eyes. “My heart, it’s not my own.”

“Whose is it, mo ghràdh?”

Ghràdh. I know that one . . .

Love.

Mo ghràdh . . .My love.

The air in my lungs stalls out.

Cal’s grip around my hips turns harsh, and I whisper. “Yours.”

His jaw feathers, and I swear he stops breathing.

The overwhelming urge to scramble to my knees and wrap my body around his blooms in an ache so deep. But his hold doesn’t waiver.

I try to move, and he shakes his head.

That line we weren’t supposed to cross is so far in our rearview mirror I can barely see it. It may as well be invisible. Nonexistent.

Poof.

Gone.

“Cal,” I utter.

He makes a low, raw noise before clearing his throat. I brush my fingers over his knuckles, almost white over my hip now.

He looks like he needs a restart.

It’s like his heart was just defibrillated. Brought back to life. And he doesn’t know what to do with it. Like it sits, beating messily in his palm.

I want to take it, carefully, with gentle hands to stow it away somewhere safe. I want to make sure that look, the one that says he can’t believe someone could love him back, never crosses his gorgeous face ever again. Ever.