Page 82 of Dare to Love Me

Somewhere along this conversation, my legs have shifted, bracketing hers. I don’t recall making the conscious decision to close the space between us.

She doesn’t move away.

Just sits there, her gaze locked onto mine, the silence charged with something thick and unspoken.

Her lips part, breath uneven, chest rising and falling in a way that makes my blood burn hotter.

She’s not looking away.

Neither am I.

It’s been so long. And Daisy is all soft curves and parted lips and skin that begs to be touched. She radiates sensuality in a way that makes it impossiblenotto think about fucking. About how long it’s been since I’ve had a woman beneath me.

And worse—so much worse—she makes me remember what I did in that bloody tent, what I’ve done in too many stolen moments since. My secret, shameful surrender to the unbearable need. Stroking myself late at night, her name in my throat, eyes closed, imagining her.

The celibacy has left me feeling almost feral with want.

I am sick of watching. Sick of imagining.

I need to be inside a woman. Insideher.

My arm slides along the back of the pew behind her, my body moving of its own accord like it’s forgotten every lesson in self-control I’ve ever learned.

“Daisy,” I say, her name emerging as a low growl, rough with everything I absolutelyshouldn’tbe thinking.

Not with her.

Especially not in a church.

But at this point, blasphemy is the least of my concerns. The need pulses through me, throbbing with every heartbeat, primal and desperate.

Jesus fucking Christ, I am so starved for this.

She tilts her head, eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you having intrusive thoughts, Edward?”

I chuckle, dark and humorless. “Trust me, if you knew what I was thinking, you wouldn’t be sitting quite so close.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Try me.”

Fuck this.

Whatever thin veneer of propriety was holding me together shatters.

I take her chin in my hand, tilting her face up with a grip that isjustshy of possessive. Her breath snags, those full lips parting, so fucking inviting—and before I can talk myself out of it, I lean in and kiss her.

Soft. Full. Warm.Perfect.

God help me.

I haven’t felt a woman’s mouth in so long that the simple contact nearly undoes me.

A groan rumbles in my chest as I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, greedy. I drag her closer, the wood of the pew biting into my knee, my fingers tangling in her hair.

I can’t let her escape.

And Christ—Christ—every sensation istoo much. Every soft moan, every tiny hitch in her breath, everycurveof her body pressing against mine—amplified by years of agonizing celibacy.

She whimpers into my mouth, a desperate sound that shoots straight to my cock, and suddenly, any control remaining is hanging by a fucking thread.