Page 54 of Heart of Stone

He crosses to me slowly, like I might startle. “Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

I look up at him, at this man who somehow becomes the center of my world without me noticing. The man who makes pancakes for the twins and rocks Adam to sleep. The man who looks at me like I’m something precious instead of something broken.

“I’m scared,” I admit.

His hands come up to frame my face. “Of what?”

“Everything.” I swallow hard.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The admission costs me something, but his smile makes it worth it.

“Come here.”

He kisses me like he has all night, like we have all the time in the world. His hands slide into my hair as he draws me closer, and I let myself melt into him.

This is different from our other kisses. Those had been stolen moments, charged with tension and uncertainty. This... this feels like coming home.

“Been thinking about this all week,” he murmurs against my lips.

“That why you kept stopping by the shop?”

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Guilty.”

I slide my hands under his shirt, needing to feel his skin. He’s all hard muscle and heated flesh, and the sound he makes when my nails scrape lightly across his stomach sends heat pooling low in my belly.

“Off,” I demand, tugging at the fabric.

He complies, pulling back just long enough to strip off his shirt. I haven’t seen him shirtless before, and now that I do, I feel like I’ve been granted all my Christmas wishes at once.

His broad chest is a masterpiece of lean muscle and intricate ink—dark lines flow across his left pectoral and down his ribs, while a skull wraps around his right shoulder. Stoneheart MC is branded on his skin, marking him as a lifer.

I like it. I like that he’s committed. That he belongs.

While the tattoos are a roadmap I want to explore, right now, I just want him.

“Your turn,” he growls, fingers finding the hem of my top.

I hesitate only a moment before lifting my arms. The fabric whispers over my skin, and then I’m standing in just my bra, feeling exposed.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, hands spanning my waist. “So fucking beautiful.”

No one has ever looked at me like this—like I’m something to be cherished rather than used. Like my curves are perfect instead of too much.

“Hawk—”

“I’ve got you.” He pulls me close, skin to skin. “I’ve got you, little lamb.”

For the first time in my life, I let myself believe it.

His mouth finds mine again as we move toward the bed. Clothes fall away between kisses, between touches that grow increasingly desperate. When he finally slides into me, I gasp his name.

“Look at me,” he demands softly.

I open my eyes, finding his locked on mine.

“Stay with me,” he says. “Right here. With me.”