Page 165 of Mending Hearts
His fingers trace the line of my jaw. “We’re really here,” he says.
“We are.”
“You still don’t regret it?” he asks.
“Marrying you?” I smile. “Never.”
He exhales, a heavy breath leaving him. “Good,” he says. “Because I’m not going anywhere this time.”
“Neither am I.”
He glances toward the window. “We should probably get up. Isn’t our flight soon?”
“Probably.”
Rafe arches his brow at my nonchalance. It can’t be helped. The last thing I’m thinking about is getting my ass into gear and meeting the team for the flight back. Sure, the sooner we get home, the sooner we can be in my loft, in our bed, and spending the day properly together without a schedule, but right now thethought of tasting him makes responsibility feel like a distant concept.
Because the shift is already happening.
It’s subtle at first. The way his gaze lingers on my mouth. The way his breathing deepens just slightly. His shoulders relax, but there’s tension underneath it, coiled and warm.
He knows me too well.
“Don’t,” he says, but there’s no real warning in it.
“Don’t what?”
His eyes drop, tracking the slow way I inch closer. “You’re thinking about it.”
“Thinking about what?”
His mouth twitches. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”
“Good,” I say.
I angle closer so that our chests almost touch. The air between us shifts, thick and charged. His pupils blow wide, and his hand flexes on my waist.
The effort is pointless.
“I thought we were getting up,” he says, but his voice is already rough.
“We will.”
“Soon?”
“Eventually.”
He exhales—half laugh, half surrender. “You’re impossible.”
“Married to you,” I remind him.
That does it.
Something in his expression snaps. The softness melts into hunger. He pulls me in until there’s no space left. My cock is already hard. I know he can feel it.
“You’re not helping,” he mutters.
“I’m not trying to.”
