Page 90 of This Beautiful Lie
His jaw clenched. For one aching second, he froze—then suddenly he was closer, stepping between my knees, and I could no longer think.
Before I knew what was happening, his other hand was at the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair.
“You have no idea how close I am to losing myself over you,” he said. His forehead pressed into mine.
The sound of it, the heat ofhim, undid me. My fingers twisted into his shirt, tugging him closer. “Good,” I whispered, but before the word had fully left my lips, his mouth was there.
Hungry and unrestrained. It was fire against fire. A want so sharp it made me dizzy. His lips claimed mine, and I kissed him back with a wild urgency I didn't know I contained. We were caught in a frenzy, as though the words we’d just spoken had ripped something open between us.
I gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his lips moving with a hunger that made me tilt my head backward.
Heat tore through me, wild and immediate, my fingers curling into his shirt like I needed something to hold onto in order not to fall.
He pulled me closer, his hand sliding from my neck and down my spine, anchoring me to him, leaving no space between us.
“Dean—”
My voice broke on his name, a small, startled sound against his mouth.
He pulled back a fraction—barely—just enough to search my face.
His forehead rested against mine, his breath unsteady, the air between us vibrating with everything he wasn’t saying.
His hands didn’t move. Didn’t push. Didn’t pull. They simplyheld, steady and patient, as if he was giving me that heartbeat to decide.
As if one word—one breath—would be all it took for him to let go.
“Em,” he whispered, so soft it felt like a question, like a promise he’d keep no matter how badly he wanted otherwise.
I swallowed, my fingers curling in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer than the space he’d so carefully made.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed.
Whatever control he’d been fighting for, shattered. He kissed me again—deeper, surer—like my words had undone every restraint he’d been holding onto.
The heat between us surged, but even as his breath turned rough and his body pressed flush against mine, his hands stayed impossibly gentle.
Every touch, every glide of his fingers at my waist was careful—as though he was aware of the fire burning between us and refused to let it fade.
Then his lips broke from mine, trailing slow, reverent kisses down my jaw until he found the curve of my throat.
“Em…”
My name fell from his mouth like a plea—raw and unguarded.
His thumb brushed over my lower lip, still swollen from his kiss, and the way he looked at me—like I was somehow both his answer and his undoing—completely shattered me.
Before I could catch my breath, Dean bent and swept me off the counter.
My hands flew to his shoulders, gripping for balance, but he didn’t stumble, didn’t waver—if anything, he held me tighter, steadier, his gaze never breaking from mine as he carried me out of the bathroom.
The rest of the cabin was dim, shadows flickering soft against the wooden walls, and the only sound was his steady breath and the pounding of my heart.
George trotted over immediately, tail wagging, his rope dangling from his mouth, but Dean looked at him without breaking stride. “Bed. Now,” he ordered.
For once in his life, George obeyed without question—padding straight to his oversized cushion in the living room, circling once, before plopping down with his head facing the corner.
Dean huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting. “He listens when it counts,” he murmured, though the joke lasted for only a second, and soon his breath was in my ear again.
