In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)(48)

He complied with her silent request, relaxing his jaw and allowing her access. The feathery strokes of her tongue against his was driving him insane with want and need. So much need. Like nothing he’d ever felt in his life. With no other woman. Not this overwhelming urge to protect, to dominate, to possess, to cherish, to reassure her and make promises he had no way of knowing if he could keep but wanted to offer nonetheless.

Alarm seared through the haze of mindless pleasure her mouth offered. She was vulnerable. Fragile. In no condition to truly be cognizant of her actions. One of them had to be thinking clearly and at the moment, it wasn’t him.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—take advantage of her. Even as his body and mind roared in unison to take, to possess, to claim.

He hadn’t understood Caleb’s obsession with Ramie. How any man could be so wrapped up in a woman. To be completely without reason or rational thought. But now he realized, that if his brother had felt even a fraction of what Beau was currently feeling, then he understood. It was a nearly blinding moment of clarity, when everything clicked into place, and he experienced the sensation of rightness that only a specific woman could bring to a man.

It took every bit of his will and strength to break the kiss. To tear his lips from hers, his chest heaving as though he’d just ran a mile uphill. His heartbeat was every bit as thunderous as hers had been minutes ago when she’d just surfaced from the throes of a terrible dream. Only his was the sweetest of dreams, the kind one never wanted to be shaken from.

“Beau?” she whispered, hurt evident in her voice.

Her eyes immediately became shuttered, and she tried to turn her face away, so he couldn’t see what his rejection had done.

Gently he cupped her cheek, forcing her gaze back to his. He forced control into his words, and he made himself look her in the eyes, hoping like hell that she could see the utter sincerity that surely had to be blazing from his.

“We can’t do this, Ari.”

He nearly choked on the words. Why couldn’t he be the selfish bastard he’d always considered himself? Or the cold, blunt bastard he was well accustomed to being? Why now, of all times, did he discover a conscience that demanded he absolutely protect Ari when she was at her most vulnerable and not to, in any way, take advantage of her at her weakest.

When her eyes became glossy with unshed tears, he nearly lost it. Goddamn it, but he hadn’t meant to hurt her. His tongue felt clumsy, thick in his mouth, when just seconds ago it was tasting the sweetest of pleasures. He grappled with the words—the right words—to ease the sting of his rejection.

Hell, he wasn’t rejecting her. Far from it. He was rejecting himself and the idea of causing her further pain or anguish. And worse. Regret. Because it would damn near kill him to ever see disappointment or regret in her gaze after he’d just made love to her.

“I can’t take advantage of you,” he said in a husky voice. He stroked his thumb over her lips, even as he spoke, remembering the way they’d felt against his. “You’re at your most vulnerable right now. You just awoke from a terrible dream, and you’re shaky and confused. You feel lost. Alone. Your entire world has been rocked. The people you love the most are in danger. It would make me the worst sort of bastard if I made love to you right now.”

She instantly frowned, and her eyes flashed with quick anger. Then her expression eased and she sighed, nuzzling her cheek against his palm.

“Would you consider me an intelligent, capable woman, Beau?”

He blinked, staring back at her, for a moment at a loss as to how to respond. The question came out of left field, but she was staring pointedly at him, waiting for him to answer.

“Of course,” he said, mimicking her small frown. “Why on earth would you ask such a thing?”

She put her finger to his lips to silence him and he went utterly still at her touch. Reaching for that rush of pleasure cascading through his body at something so simple as her fingers against his mouth. Though, admittedly, it was a poor substitute for her mouth, her lips. Her tongue.

He mentally moaned at the torture he was subjecting himself to. He had to be a complete masochist.

“If an intelligent, capable woman is attracted to you. Wants you and wants you to make love to her, would you consider it taking advantage of her to give her what she wants? Unless, of course, you don’t want her.”

He nearly laughed. Instead he groaned, a sound of frustrated male desire. Then he simply took her hand from his face and lowered it, cupping her palm over his aching groin, where his dick was about to tear a hole in his jeans.

“Does this feel to you like I don’t want you?” he demanded.

Her face was flushed. Not with embarrassment or shame. He could see the heat enter her eyes, her cheeks. Her lips unconsciously parted, emitting a breathy sound that made him hurt all the more.

“Me not wanting you is not the issue,” he growled. “Me taking advantage of you is.”

A soft smile curved her lips, her eyes glittering more boldly. A distinctly, delicious feminine spark of mischief fired in the depths of those expressive eyes. And he knew in that instant he was in trouble. The kind a man didn’t necessarily mind.

Then she heaved an exaggerated sigh, as though she was sorely put upon, even as her eyes held the promise of tender retribution.

“Well, if you aren’t going to take advantage of me, then I guess I’ll just have to take advantage of you.”