Page 133 of Kill for a Kiss

He stops in front of me. “Let’s go to bed, Elle,” he says. “You need your rest.”

I blink up at him and nod, setting the half-full mug down carefully.

Kaye appears at our side a second later, tossing Sterling a key with a lazy flick of her wrist. “We repurposed the panic room into a cozy honeymoon suite for you two,” she says, smiling with mischief all over her face. “Try not to wreck the bed, okay? We recently had to replace it. Dae and I kinda broke the old cot. Sorry, but also don’t ask.”

Before I can even manage a proper blush, Stan sprawls across the back of the couch beside me, that signature grin already dialed to trouble. “If there’s room in those soundproof walls for one more,” he drawls, “it wouldn’t be the first time the three of us warmed a bedtogether. Hell, best sleep I’ve had in years. I’d be happy to make it a nightly tradition.”

I bite back a giggle because Sterling goes ice cold and absolutely still. His glare could crack concrete. Stan’s grin only grows wider.

Kaye steps up to the couch. “Stan,” she says in a sweet warning, “if you evenbreathein their direction tonight, I’ll tie you to a chair and duct tape your mouth shut. Naked and alone in the living room. I’ll even let Dae take pictures for blackmail.”

Stan gasps, clutching his chest, acting wounded. “First of all, kinky pics of my perfect naked body can’t possibly be blackmail. AndKaye!” he adds, scandalized. “I thought we shared something special!”

“Yeah,” Kaye replies dryly. “A mutual talent for poor decisions.”

Stan pouts and I can’t hold back my giggle this time. It bubbles out of me before I can stop it. Sterling’s head turns at the sound. He’s still tense and probably ready to commit a felony if Stan so much as blinks wrong, but my Sterling’s handsome face softens.

I reach for his hand. He catches it instantly. “Let’s go to bed, my love,” I say, smiling up at him.

Sterling leads me down the hallway, our hands linked. Behind us, Kaye is lecturing Stan, who doesn’t sound sorry at all. I smile, while Sterling squeezes my hand tighter.

The steel door swings open under his touch. The room’s a lot warmer than I remember. There’s a bed where the cot used to be, a warm light on the bedside table, and a small dresser in the corner with folded clothes. It’s no longer a panic room. It’s a bedroom Sterling and I now own. Safe, private, and all ours.

He shuts the door behind us. For a moment, we simply stand there and breathe, the weight of the last heavy hours pressing down.

Then he moves. Sterling pulls his damp shirt over his head in one smooth, careless motion. I lose my train of thought altogether. My eyes take in everything about him. First, his chest, broad and defined,muscles cut and forged from years of forced survival and necessary violence.

His abs are sharp and tight, a ridged line down to the deep, dangerous dip of his hips. His v-line cuts low into the waistband of his jeans, taunting and daring. The dark denim clings to him, worn enough that I can see the unmistakable outline pressing against the fabric.

My mouth goes dry. I swallow hard, heat blooming, helpless to look away. Every part of him is temptation, and somehow all mine.

At his quiet chuckle, my gaze moves to his smirking mouth. I see how his long fringe falls down to his gray eyes. His hair’s ends curl from the rain, making him look untamed, reckless, and touchable in a way that’s almost too much to bear.

His hair’s a lot more silver than black by now, the dye almost entirely gone. I like him better this way. In fact, I love seeing the real him, unhidden, out in the open, and all for me.

He grabs a clean shirt—one of Damon’s, a little too tight across Sterling’s broader shoulders—and shrugs into it with a casual roll of muscle and sinew that makes my thighs tremble.

But it doesn’t hide enough. I know his body all too well now, that even with my eyes closed, I can imagine every line as though my mind’s memorized him without my realization. I’d be happy having him imprinted to every part of me. Though, I’m certain he already is.

When he unzips his pants and pushes them down, his black boxers come into view. I cling tighter to the sheets, pretending it’s about warmth, when really it’s about restraint. Keeping myself from crossing the room and undoing every inch of clothing he has on.

Sterling glances over his shoulder and catches me staring. For half a second, his mouth curves into the widest smile I’ve seen on him.

Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And he likes it.Ilikeit far too much.

Sterling tosses his discarded clothes into the corner with a swift kick, then peels back the covers on the bed, sliding under them with easy movement. He holds the blanket open, waiting for me.

I don’t hesitate for a second. I climb in after him, and let him pull me close until I’m firmly against his side. The warmth of him bleeds into me in an instant.

He shuffles a little, adjusting the blanket higher over my shoulders. He’s fussing in that quiet, gruff way he does when he thinks I won’t notice. “You warm enough?” he mutters.

I nod against his chest, but I know that’s not enough for him.

“You want more tea?” he asks. “I saw some chamomile in the kitchen.”

I smile, soaking up the low rumble of his voice under my cheek.

“I’m good,” I murmur. “You’re better than any tea.”