Page 36 of Marked By Tank
Just enough to break the line of us.
I blink at him, dazed and flushed and very aware of how bare my legs still are under his shirt.
His eyes drag over me once more, hot enough to make my knees weak all over again.
Then his jaw locks.
“Not like this.”
The words hit me like cold water.
I stare at him.
He sees it and swears softly.
“Not because you’re scared. Not because you’ve had two days from hell and I’m the first bastard who got you somewhere warm.”
I open my mouth.
He shakes his head once.
“Not like this, angel.”
Angel.
It should make the refusal sting worse.
It does not.
Because his voice is rough with wanting. Because I can still taste him. Because he looks half wrecked by stepping back at all.
He wants me.
He just wants me right.
That realization hits somewhere so deep it leaves me shaky.
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
His eyes close for half a beat, something like relief and frustration crossing his face at the same time.
Then he reaches up and brushes his thumb across my lower lip.
Small touch.
Too intimate.
Then he steps away fully.
“I’m going outside for a minute,” he says.
I nod because I cannot seem to do anything else.
He holds my eyes one second longer, like he is making sure I am steady enough to stay standing.
Then he turns and heads for the door.
The cabin feels colder the second it shuts behind him.
I stay where I am, back to the wall, wearing his shirt and breathing hard and tasting him on my mouth.
My fingers come up to touch my lips.
He looked at me like that.
And worse, maybe better, he kissed me like it mattered.
