Page 59 of Hold Me Tight

My breath catches and my eyes fly open.

Oh.

Heat floods through me like lava.

I don’t move.

Or even think too hard.

If I do, I might not be able to stop myself from wondering what it would feel like if I reached out and touched him. That’s all it takes for temptation to build low in my belly, until it’s impossible to ignore, simmering just beneath the surface and spreading warmth through every inch of me. My fingers twitch as the need to touch him pulses through me with a force that’s impossible to shut down.

I really need to stop.

Or roll away and take some much-needed space, all the while reminding myself why this is a terrible idea. Before I can list every reason I shouldn’t do this, my hand slowly moves. A knot pulls tight within me. I haven’t even laid a hand on him yet and already I feel like I’m on the verge of exploding.

“You can touch me, Callie. I promise, I won’t mind one bit.”

His comment cuts through the silence, and my head jerks up so fast, I nearly give myself whiplash.

His eyes are open, and there’s nothing casual about the way he watches me. There’s no trace of uncertainty or doubt. Just steady, unflinching hunger.

I should stop before the situation spirals further out of control.

Instead, I throw back the covers. My hand trembles as I reach for him, pressing my palm against the front of his briefs and wrapping my fingers around his hard length. His hips twitch as a sharp inhale hisses through his teeth. His muscles tighten beneath my touch, as if he’s holding himself together by a thread.

Need rolls off him in heavy, suffocating waves.

It’s almost shocking just how much I want this.

Not just the physical part, but the way he looks at me like I’m something he never thought he could have.

Something worth waiting for.

It doesn’t take long before the cotton beneath my hand dampens with moisture. A low groan rumbles from him, and I swear it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. His restraint, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands stay clenched at his sides, it all makes my pulse skitter. He’s allowing me to set the pace and giving me the space to choose. And that choice is its own kind of power.

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “How long has it been for you?”

Almost immediately, I regret the question.

If he says something careless, something that breaks the fragile connection forming between us, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from pulling back and rebuilding every wall I’ve allowed him to pull down.

I brace for his answer.

He doesn’t look away or even blink. “Three years.”

My eyebrows pull together. “Seriously?”

He nods.

I search his face for a tell, any hint he’s lying. “I don’t believe you.”

One side of his mouth lifts into something that’s not quite a smile. “It’s true. I got tired of hookups that didn’t mean anything.” His voice dips, turning rough around the edges. “Plus, it didn’t help that the woman I wanted was with someone else.”

I don’t ask who he’s talking about because I already know.

That’s all it takes for the sexual tension between us to ratchet higher, the silence growing so heavy it presses in until the rest of the world slips away into nothingness.

There’s just River.