Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(87)
I’ve never even tried.
And now, feeling her silky skin against mine, her body relaxed and finding comfort molded into mine, I know what I’ve been missing. What I never want to miss again.
Her hand rubs over my chest affectionately. “Your heart is racing,” she murmurs. It’s almost like a purr.
“I’m fine.” Unless you break it. The thought suddenly creeps into my mind unbidden, leaving me feeling like I’ve been punched in the stomach.
Charlie could break me. By the volcanic eruption of anxiety suddenly bursting, I acknowledge that she could shatter me worse than Penny did.
Permanently.
A second later, I feel her tongue dart over my nipple before her mouth covers it in a kiss. I groan, shifting to my side so I can face her. A tiny giggle escapes her but her eyes are still closed. I simply watch her, as her breathing slows and steadies, telling me she has fallen back asleep.
Chapter twenty-eight
CHARLIE
I’ve given up all pretenses that I’m leaving today or tomorrow. It might be in a week from now, or three weeks from now. But I’m not leaving until I absolutely have to.
I thought the night on the pier was intense, but last night felt somehow . . . binding. Cain showed me just how much more demanding yet gentle, how much more passionate yet considerate, he could be. Raw emotions—feelings I can’t even comprehend, let alone verbalize—passed through each intimate touch, each time we surrendered ourselves to each other.
I don’t understand how or why I’ve garnered Cain’s interest, but I’ll hold onto it as long as I can.
Every inch of me is sore. And yet, if Cain needed more of me, I would give it to him right now. I’ll give him everything that I possibly can. Which doesn’t feel like very much, especially compared to what he’s so freely offered to me.
My heart aches with that knowledge. I don’t know what to do. I don’t see how this can go on indefinitely. And yet no part of me will allow the thought of leaving right now.
Perhaps he senses my presence because Cain suddenly turns to lock eyes with me, pulling a light gasp from my lips. His gaze drifts down my body, that deadly curl touching his lip. “I hope you don’t mind me going through your dresser.” My fingers stretch the plain gray T-shirt of his that I’m wearing as I make my way down the steps. I found it folded neatly in his top drawer and I couldn’t help but put it on. It reaches my thighs, it’s soft, and, though obviously laundered, it still somehow smells like Cain.
He places the cup in his hand down on the side table and silently strolls over to wait for me on the landing. By the sudden tilt of his head and his focus, I’m thinking the shirt isn’t entirely long enough to cover the fact that I have nothing on underneath. When I reach the landing, his hand grabs onto the front of it, hiking it up around my waist as he pulls me into him. “I would prefer you without this.” His hands slide down along my back to get a solid grip of my bare ass.
“What, like some sort of sex slave?” I tease as I inhale the scent of soap. Cain has showered. I, most definitely, have not. After last night’s bedroom marathon, I’m regretting this fact right now. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He pulls me into him tighter.
“I tried to wake you up this morning but you sleep like the dead,” he says absently, a soft smile on his lips as his attention roams my face.
I scrubbed my makeup off before I came down. I also took out the contacts. I can do that much for him, at least.
“I could use a slave,” he murmurs. Then he leans down and lays one of his knee-buckling, thigh-tingling kisses on me and I silently thank God that I at least used his toothbrush to clean my teeth.
“Hmm . . . I thought you said you weren’t a pervert,” I tease against his mouth.
His dark chuckle sends shivers skittering along my skin. And then suddenly I’m being turned and my feet are moving backward to keep my balance as his powerful frame overwhelms me. Before I know what’s happening, my T-shirt is gone and I’m falling into the couch, just as Cain’s track pants hit the floor.
The smirk on his face is downright dangerous. “I lied.”
“I really like waking up to you in my home,” Cain says as he slides a cup of coffee across the counter to me.
“I can tell,” I murmur dryly, letting my eyes roll over Cain’s arms, his chest, down his stomach—memories of what all those muscles looked like straining above me only twenty minutes ago firmly entrenched in my skull. With a glance up, I see him watching me with an amused smile, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I quickly distract myself with a fake itch on my thigh, focusing intently on it.
He could make it easier on both of us by throwing on a shirt.
But he won’t.
I think he likes me gawking at him.
It’s not bad enough that Charlie Rourke is a drug trafficker and a retired stripper. Now I’ve turned her into a sex fiend.
With a chuckle, Cain states rather than asks, “You must be hungry. I’ve got . . .” He opens the fridge and peers inside. “. . . condiments . . . orange juice . . . bread.” He sighs. “Sorry, Karina—my housekeeper—comes in twice a week to clean and replenish staples. I’m rarely here to eat a meal. But I’ll get this stocked.” Throwing the door shut, he pulls a piece of paper and a pen out of a drawer and asks, “What do you like?”