Page 30 of Don't Burn Bridges
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, needing to know he wasn’t pushing her too fast.
She didn't ask what this was—she didn't have to. He could see the same desire reflected in her expression. But he needed to hear that she wanted it too.
She didn't step back or hesitate before setting her bottle on the counter beside his, never taking her gaze off him. “If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here.”
That should've made it simple.
It didn't.
What was it about this woman that made him hesitate? Usually, he was all in—taking what they both wanted with no complications, and hopefully, no awkward morning afters.
But something about Shylo made him want to slow down. Take his time. Make it about more than just another kiss and another night.
When she tipped her head back without a hint of reservation, he kissed her again. His hand cupped her jaw while the other drew her closer until her body rested against his. He explored her mouth with a patience he'd never offered another woman, savoring every kiss she returned and every sound she made.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, and his cock hardened in response—his tight jeans making it uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. He angled his head, deepening the kiss.
His hand at her waist shifted, his fingers spreading over the curve of her ass through the fabric. He pulled her flush against him, letting himself get lost in the feel of her, the quiet catch of her breath, and the way she fit against him as if she belonged there.
The thought startled him, but he was too caught up in her taste, her touch, and the soft sounds she made to follow it any further.
The kiss took on a life of its own—consuming them as if they had no choice. Her lips moved with his in a rhythm that felt anything but new. His other hand slid up her back, fingers tracing the line of her spine before settling at the base of her neck and holding her there.
Her hands weren’t idle either. They caressed his body from chest to shoulders, then up into his hair, fingers threading through it, tightening enough to pull a low, rough growl from him. He felt it everywhere—sharp, erotic, and impossible to ignore.
He altered his stance, guiding her back a few steps without breaking the kiss, until her back hit the wall.
Every reaction she gave him—every small breath, every shift closer—pulled him in deeper.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like he was losing sight of where it stayed simple and where it became something more.
But that didn’t stop him.
Her mouth left his for a second, her lips skimming along his jaw and cheek, her breath warm against his skin.
“Bedroom?” she asked, pulling away to look up at him. The word came out breathless, and it hit him like a trigger.
His hand slid into hers, fingers closing around it as he turned and led her toward his bedroom. The door stood half open, and he pushed it wider without breaking contact, letting her go in first before following her inside.
The air felt different in there. More intimate.
And what little resistance he’d been holding onto out in the other room was gone.
Chapter 15
The door clicked shut behind them, and the sound seemed to reverberate inside her, amplifying everything—the rush of her pulse, the uneven rhythm of her breathing, and the awareness of him a step behind her.
She didn’t move far. Just enough to take in the space.
Closed curtains shut out the last of the evening light. A neatly made queen-size bed dressed in shades of navy and tan sat against one wall, with a dark wood dresser scarred by years of use opposite it. The bedside lamp cast a softer, dimmer glow than the one in the main room, bathing everything in warm light. The faint scent of clean laundry mingled with something distinctly his—soap, leather, and the outdoors, sun-warmed and familiar.
It should’ve felt strange.
It didn’t.
When she turned to face him, the air between them shifted the second their eyes met. Whatever had been building all day hadn’t faded. If anything, it had sharpened, stretched tighter, like something ready to snap.
Or give.
