Page 91 of Burn

“Excuse me?” I ask, taking a small step back.

The heat of seeing him fizzles into tiny embers as I fully comprehend what he’s saying.

He thinks I’m broken.

Damaged.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that I know Aaron didn’t break me, if Adrian now sees me as damaged goods. I swallow thickly. It feels like a boulder is lodged in my throat. My heart stutters, knowing he could see me as ruined.

His hands fly up, both palms out. “No, that’s not — fuck. I’m saying it all wrong. That’s not what I meant.” He takes a shaky breath and takes a small step toward me. “Last night was so fucked. I was there, I saw you, how… detached… I don’t know, but I can’t be the guy who —” He cuts off, jaw clenched, eyes wide with guilt. “I won’t be the guy who takes advantage of you. Ever.”

I step into him, understanding, and my voice is husky as hell when I say, “I asked for simple for one night. Just one.” My eyes search his, but I don’t let him respond. “Now? Now, I want to take out every bit of hate in my soul with you.”

I’ve tried therapy, medication, and support groups. None of it worked like he works. I know exactly what I need, and who I need it from. His eyebrows shoot up as I step closer, pressing my chest against his and tilting my head to look into his warm, brown eyes. I feel his dick move against me; it pulses with desire through the thin material that separates us.

I push up onto my tiptoes, allowing my lips to brush against his when I say, “I want you to fuck me until I forget every evil, ugly thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His breath hitches, and his last remaining shred of willpower dissolves when I slide my fingers into the waistband of his shorts and wrap my hand around him.

Mine.

Adrian

Bad idea.

The thought process I should have, but don’t.

Bad idea.

The words I should say, but don’t.

Not when she’s prowling toward me with the most intense hunger in her eyes. Not the eyes of a traumatized woman I was expecting, but eyes of a woman possessed. She presses up onto her toes, allowing her lips to graze against mine, and her voice — Jesus. It’s low, smoky, rough, and so fucking commanding.

Nothing about her is fragile or broken, as one would expect. No, she moves with precision, confidence, something almost lethal in nature. She wraps her pretty fingers around my length, and I grip the door frame, trying to keep my hands off her body, because this must be a trauma response, right? She can’t possibly wantthis.

I want this.

More than anything.

But I’m trying to be… a good guy?

My other hand moves of its own accord, wrapping around her and gathering the long shirt she pulled from my bag and fisting it. Heat radiates off her body, and there’s a growing ache in my chest. A direct result of how hard my heart is slamminginto my ribs. We’re frozen in time like this. Her waiting for my decision, and me, not so slowly caving in because — fuck — I’ve never needed anything like I need her right now.

Her lips quirk up, lifting into a smirk, and her eyes fucking shine. It’s devious, and she descends, her lips dragging across my chest and slowly trailing hungry kisses across my hypersensitive skin.

This must be a dream.

When she sucks my nipple into her mouth, and rolls it between her teeth, I hiss at the combination of pleasure and pain.

Definitely not dreaming.

One more time. I’ll try to reason with her one more time. My hands fucking shake as I reach for her shoulders and gently push her back. Her lips glisten. They’re soft, full, pouty, and fucking moist.

“I think we should slow down,” I manage to say, but my tone communicates the effect she’s having on me.

Also, I’m rock fucking hard.

She stares at me, unmoving, for a minute, and then rolls those pretty blue eyes. She rolls them so hard that her whole head moves in a small circle, before her attention lands back on me. She stares up at me through her thick, dark lashes, searching my face. Her chest rises and falls, and when she takes a step forward, I move back, lifting my hands, palms out.