Page 41 of Held-

“You sure about that, princess?” His voice dips. “Because if we cross that line… I’m not the kind of man who holds back.”

A shiver rolls through me—heat, not cold. “Maybe I’m done with people tiptoeing around me,” I say, breath catching. “Like I’m something fragile.”

His hands find my waist, pulling me in until there’s no space left between us. “You’re a hell of a lot tougher than they give you credit for.”

“Then prove it,” I fire back. “Stop acting like I’ll shatter.”

For a heartbeat, he just looks at me, something unreadable flashing across his face. Then his mouth crashes back to mine. This kiss is all hunger and need, his hands claiming every inch they touch.

I try to get closer despite the layers between us. When his teeth graze my bottom lip, I gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy with want.

His hands slide down to my hips, lifting me easily until I'm sitting on the guardrail, the wooden edge digging into the backs of my thighs. The position puts us at eye level, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer.

“Careful, princess,” he warns against my lips. “We're playing with fire out here.”

“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” I whisper. And it’s true. After the frost that defined my marriage, the heat rising between us feels almost redemptive.

His hands slip beneath his cut, then under my coat, and when his fingers find the spot wherehis hoodiehas ridden up, they meet bare skin. Hot, rough, deliberate.

The first stroke up my waist nearly buckles my knees.

God—how can one touch hold so much? His fingers move with a care that makes me feel seen in a way I’ve never known.

I shiver, breath catching, but he knows damn well it isn’t from the cold.

His gaze drops to the hoodie hanging off me, sleeves swallowing my hands, hem shifted by his touch. A look sweeps through his eyes—hungry, possessive.

“Fuck,” he breathes, thumbs pressing harder into my hips. “You in my hoodie… you don’t even know what that does to me.”

Oh, I know. I can feel it in every place we’re touching, every place we’re not.

He leans in, his lips brushing a slow path along my jaw, each touch deliberate, as though he’s memorizing the feel of my skin. His breath is hot, his voice even hotter.

“I should get you warm,” he murmurs, though his hands are already beneath the edge of my hoodie, resting at my waist with a familiar certainty. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m warm,” I whisper, tugging him closer by the front of his cut, dragging his mouth back to mine.God, I need him. I need this.“Don’t stop.”

He releases a sound that’s half-groan, half-exhale, something unguarded that sends a spark racing through me. His grip tightens, drawing me fully against him, his breath rough against my throat as he tries—and fails—to steady himself.

If this is him holding back…I don’t stand a chance when he really lets go.

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, rolling through me like a slow burn. It settles in my bones, in my stomach, in every place that already aches for him.

“As much as I’d love to forget the world right here…” His thumb strokes my hip, lazy and possessive, and my breath catches. “You’ll be shaking from the cold before I’m even close to being done admiring you.”

His voice is pure gravel. That look in his eyes? It steals what little control I have left. Heat, want, and something that feels dangerously close to devotion.

He leans in just enough that his breath brushes my ear.

“When I fuck you for the first time,” he murmurs, the words a promise and a threat all at once, “it’s going to be somewhere warm. Somewhere I can put my hands everywhere I’ve been wanting to.” His fingers tighten on my waist, dragging me closer. “Somewhere I don’t have to rush. Somewhere I can take…my…time.”

My knees nearly buckle, heat flashing through me so fast it’s dizzying.

And God help me—I want that. All of it.

“The first time?” I ask softly.

His mouth curves, slow and certain. “First of many, baby.”