Page 136 of Almost Ravaged

He huffs, the hint of self-deprecation giving way to a quiet laugh. “I didn’t think I did, but apparently I have all sorts of undiscovered desires when it comes to you.”

He grips my chin, keeping my head turned so he can look into my eyes.

“I like taking care of you. Cherishing you. Making you feel good after a scene.” His gaze narrows, his entire focus fixed on me. “I told you before, Ms. Davvies: I don’t take what we’re doing lightly. I’m all in when it comes to you.”

My breath catches. This type of adoration is so foreign, so consuming. On a shuddering exhale, I cup the back of his neck, bringing his head down. When our lips meet, I pour my emotions into the kiss. The joy. The appreciation. This sense of satiation and general ease.

In seconds, my blood warms and heat pools in my belly. I slip my tongue into his mouth, desperate for more. Our mouths give and take, fresh sparks of arousal creating that floaty feeling in my chest. He grows hard against my back as we savor each other.

But I think we’ve all reached an unspoken understanding that we’re done for tonight.

Mercer breaks away first.

It’s for the best. If he hadn’t, I may have gone back on that silent agreement.

He cups my face, kisses me once more, then lifts his chin, eyeing his best friend.

If he’s worried I forgot about Noah, he shouldn’t be. I didn’t. I couldn’t.

But the man has been sitting stock-still, in complete silence, for over an hour. Discomfort radiates from him, but I don’t have the first clue how to break through and ease what ails him.

He’s motionless on the floor, sitting with his knees bent and his elbows propped up on his thighs.

Frowning, I look to Mercer for guidance, but in return, he only shakes his head.

He doesn’t know what to do either.

An ache swells inside me. I can’t sit here and not try.

I ease off Mercer’s lap and move slowly so I don’t slosh water over the edge. We got sidetracked while we undressed and did our best to convince Noah to join us, so the water level is far too high for two people.

Naturally, Noah’s response was a hard and fast no.

I expected him to leave the room completely, but Mercer pulled him aside and spoke to him, convincing him to stay.

Physically, at least.

I don’t think any part of him is mentally or emotionally available right now.

With my arms draped over the edge, I reach out and quietly ask, “You’re sure you don’t want to come in?”

He lifts his head and offers me the saddest smile.

My heart aches, concern and regret twisting my insides painfully.

Was our moment in the cornfield too much for him?

Did we push him too far?

“I’m good right here,” he eventually tells me, making a point to hold eye contact.

That’s progress.

I lick my lips, and he tracks the movement, another positive sign. Cautiously, I lean forward so I can brush a loose tendril of hair from his face.

Water droplets drip from my hand, landing on his temple. Before I can wipe them away, he captures my wrist and presses my palm to his cheek.

A hint of relief threads its way through me. “You’re okay, though, right?”