Page 46 of Breaking Rules

“It would probably make things worse if I talked to Principal McKenna, wouldn’t it?”

I gave him a soft smile. “It would, but I appreciate your willingness to do so.”

He put his hand on my cheek, his thumb leaving a trail of heat where it brushed across my skin. “Is it too late, lass? Have I broken too much between us? Is there any chance we can fix this?”

I put my hand over his and then turned my head to kiss his palm. “No, it’s not too much to be fixed. Relationships aren’t perfect. We just have to be willing to put in the work.”

He tipped my chin up so our eyes could meet. “I want to put in the work, lass. I want this.”

“Good.” I leaned toward him and brushed my lips across his. “That’s what I want too.”

His hands went to my waist, tugging me against his body as he bent his head and took my mouth in a scorching kiss that threatened to burn me up from the inside out. I grabbed the front of his shirt, flicking my tongue out to meet his.

Damn, I’d missed this.

Twenty-Nine

Alec

I couldn’t believehow close I’d come to losing this, to losingher. The thought made me tighten my grip on her, made my exploration of her mouth rougher, needier. After a week without her, my body ached for hers with a desperation I’d never known with another woman. I wouldn’t push her into anything, but if she was willing…

“I need you, lass.” I broke from the kiss only long enough to say the words, and then my lips were back on hers. When I felt her stretching to reach me, I lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around me.

“Yes,” she breathed against my mouth. Her teeth scraped my bottom lip. “Bedroom.”

The rush of relief that went through me was almost as strong as my desire. I kicked off my shoes and somehow managed to shrug out of my jacket before heading for the short hallway that led to Lumen’s bedroom. She squirmed in my arms, her hands moving across my shoulders, my back, up my neck. Fingers in my hair, nails scratching my scalp. Each roll of her hips put near-painful pressure on my cock, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything short of being inside her.

I lowered her to the bed, unwilling to release her just yet. The angle was awkward with how small her bed was, but I didn’t care about any of that. She cradled me between her legs, her arms trying to pull me closer, as if that were even possible. Her hands tugged at the back of my shirt, teeth nipping at my bottom lip, desperate tension radiating from every cell. She made a frustrated noise, and the sound made me smile. Then her hands were pushing rather than pulling, and I froze, worried that I’d crossed some line.

I shot up, my feet finding the floor even as my knees rested on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m sorry, lass. Did I hurt you?”

“No, no.” She sat up, reaching for my hands. She brought them up and kissed the knuckles on one, then the other. “You didn’t hurt me. I just wanted your damn shirt off.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then a laugh burst out of me. “Daft, woman. I thought I’d done something wrong.”

She went up on her knees and reached for the front of my shirt. “Not wrong. You’re just wearing too many clothes.” Color flooded her cheeks. “You’re always wearing too many clothes.”

And just like that, the humor was gone.

“Aye, lass.” My voice was rough. “I ken the feeling well.”

As she undid my buttons, I kept my hands at my sides despite the nearly overwhelming urge to tear her clothes off. I’d have my turn soon enough. For the moment, though, I enjoyed watching her. Then again, I always enjoyed watching her.

The little crease between her eyebrows when she concentrated. How her lips parted ever so slightly when she was aroused. Heat from her fingers as they brushed my skin. The hard points of her nipples that told me she wasn’t wearing a bra under her over-sized cotton tee.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” she said as she pushed my shirt off my shoulders. Her hands burned paths down my chest and stomach, my muscles flexing and jumping under her touch.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” She turned me around and began tracing the cross that covered most of my back. She’d seen it before, but never examined it with the intense focus I felt now. “S.A.M.?”

She made it a question, and it was one I didn’t mind answering. “Shannon Allen McCrae.”

“Your mother.” Her lips pressed against the spot where the initials had been inked.

“Aye.”