Page 427 of Bad Prince
“Don’t.”
His smile deepens, but there’s tenderness in it too. “I’m not making fun of you.”
“Feels a little like you are.”
He shakes his head once, steps in close again, and slides one hand to my waist.
Not possessive.
Not innocent either.
Just enough to make my breath hitch.
“If I gave in to exactly what I want right now,” he says, voice low enough that I feel it more than hear it, “you wouldn’t be getting to practice on time tomorrow.”
My mouth goes dry.
There are many things I could say to that.
None of them arrive.
He studies my face and seems weirdly pleased by my inability to form language.
“I want this done right,” he says.
And there it is.
The real reason.
Beneath the tension under the very immediate and mutual urge to wreck each other on contact.
He wants this to be perfect.
Not rushed.
Not accidental.
Not just us finally giving in because the wanting got too loud.
That knowledge knocks something loose in me I didn’t know was still braced.
The old hurt, maybe.
The part that always wondered if boys like Tristan only know how to take when desire gets strong enough. He must see something change in my face, because his thumb strokes once along the side of my waist.
“Stella.”
Just my name.
Still enough to steady me.
I nod before I fully mean to.
“Okay.”
His eyes search mine.
“Okay?”
