Page 62 of Can't Stop Watching

I sigh, my breath warming the skin of his chest. "I'm thinking that I expected to feel... I don't know, scared? When you got rough. But I didn't."

"What did you feel?"

"Free." The word escapes before I can catch it, hanging naked in the air between us.

His arms tighten around me, and I swear I feel his lips press against the top of my head. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.

"Want some water?" he finally asks, practical as ever.

"God, yes. My throat's raw from..." I feel my face heat up.

"From screaming my name?" His smirk is audible.

"Don't get cocky, Wolfe," I mutter, even as I smile against his skin. "It wasn't that impressive."

His laugh is the most genuine sound I've heard from him yet.

Dane slides out of bed, and I can't help but stare as he walks toward the door. That ass should be registered as a lethal weapon. Seriously, it's like two perfect muscled hemispheres that?—

Jesus, Lila, get a grip.

I flop back against his pillows, feeling pleasantly sore all over. What just happened between us was... something else. Notjust the physical part, which was mind-blowing, but the way he watched me. Like he was memorizing every reaction, cataloging what made me gasp, what made me moan. No one's ever paid that much attention to me before.

And I let him see me—really see me. Not the careful, guarded version I've been showing the world since New Orleans.

The renewed thought of my former life crashes into my post-orgasm haze like a bucket of ice water. I've spent years building walls, keeping people at arm's length, especially men. Especially powerful men. And here I am, letting those walls crumble for a guy I barely know—an ex-military private detective with violence in his hands and secrets behind his eyes.

What am I doing?

I hear water running in the kitchen, the clink of glasses. My mind drifts to tomorrow's shift at The Old Haunt, to my upcoming Veritas interview results, to Mr. Miller's project that's due next?—

"Here you go."

Dane's voice yanks me back to the present as he returns, gloriously naked, glasses of water in hand. And... wow. His cock swings as he walks, impressive and perfectly straight even in its relaxed state. A flash of heat zips through my core, memories of how he felt inside me making me squeeze my thighs together involuntarily.

He hands me a glass, then sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes searching my face. Too damn perceptive.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" he asks. "You look… I don't know… preoccupied."

I take a long sip of water, buying time. "Just... processing."

His brow furrows. "Did I hurt you? I tried to be careful, but?—"

"No! God, no." I reach for his hand. "It was amazing. You were... perfect."

He doesn't look convinced. "Then what's bothering you?"

Something about his genuine concern breaks something loose in me. Maybe it's the intimacy we just shared, or maybe I'm just tired of carrying this alone.

"Remember how I panicked the other night? When you got rough?" I stare into my water glass. "There's a reason for that."

Dane goes still beside me, his full attention laser-focused on my face.

"In high school, my senior year, there was this teacher. Mr. Colton." My voice drops to almost a whisper. "He taught drama, and I thought... I thought he saw something special in me. You know, stupid teenage girl crap."

Dane's hand finds mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles. He doesn't speak, just waits.

"It started with extra attention, private lessons. Then texts that got increasingly inappropriate. I was flattered at first—this cool, older guy singling me out." I laugh bitterly. "God, I was so stupid."