Page 128 of Burning Daylight

She holds hers in front of her, palms toward the sky.

I quirk a brow. “Don’t saints have lips, too?”

She nods, placing her hands together. “Ones they use to pray.”

I move closer until the tips of my shoes touch hers, and my skin prickles from the proximity. “I’mprayingto kiss you.”

Her chest lifts with a heavy breath, and her mouth parts in invitation.

Heat floods through me, electricity snapping between us like little stabs of lightning.

“I’m no saint,” she murmurs, her eyes dropping to my lips, then slowly rising again. “But if I were, saints don’t move, even when they grant the prayers.”

My stomach flips, nerves sizzling beneath my skin. I reach up, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, just like before. “Then don’t move while I act out my prayer.”

I brush my mouth against hers: a gentle caress, barely enough to curb the insatiable ache to taste her.

She leans back, her shaky exhale painting itself across my lips.

“That tasted like a sin, not a prayer,” she says, her tone breathy and inviting.

My stomach cinches tight, anticipation zinging through my nerves and heat coiling through my body, making me tense withneed.

“Then give me my sin again,” I rasp.

This time, she doesn’t hesitate.

Her hands slide around my neck and tug me closer until every inch of her is pressed against me.

I groan, mouth parting as she pulls my bottom lip between hers, teasing me with the softest bite.

She’s right—thisdoestaste like sin—and when she moans, I nearly lose it.

My arm slips around her waist, my other hand angling her jaw as I kiss her deeper. Grip her tighter. Our tongues brush, and my cock jerks.

I skim my palm down her side, hitching one of her legs around my waist, anchoring her to me as I lean back against the exterior wall of the building, and enjoy the way her weight falls into me so perfectly.

She fits like she was made for me. Like this is always where she’s belonged.

And all I can think about is how it would feel to bury myself inside of her.

To wake up next to her; her leg tangled over mine, and her arm flung across my chest like she’s claiming me in her sleep.

To hear the quiet sigh she makes when the sun hits her face, or the way she hums without realizing it while she writes her stories.

To beallowedto know those tiny, ordinary moments like scripture.

To have all of her. Not just in the dark, but in the light—in front of everyone—soft and real and mine.

The sound of a door flying open rips us apart. She flies away from me, her back slamming against the concrete like she’s terrified to be seen. Her eyes widen, chest heaving, her lips swollen and her hair a mess.

She’s so gorgeous like this, it makes my chest ache.

Juliette’s fingers reach up and brush against her puffy mouth, like she can’t believe what just happened. Or maybe she’s remembering how good it felt.

A guy’s muffled voice floats around the corner. “Come on, babe, just give me five minutes.”

Then, a heady giggle that half turns into a moan. “I can’t. I have to close tonight.”