Time (Laws of Physics #3)(10)

Mona swiped at her cheeks, her smile now brittle. “I can’t seem to stop crying and I’ve never been a crier. It’s like I came back from Aspen broken.”

Broken?

I shook my head vehemently. “No. God, no. You aren’t broken. Mona, crying, feeling doesn’t make you broken. Stoicism does. Burying your emotions—from everyone, all the time—does.” I kissed her quickly again. “Don’t fight the tears. Maybe you’re crying so much because it’s the first time you’ve let yourself. Maybe they’ll stop, maybe they won’t. But you’re safe with me. Let them come.”

She sniffled, her eyebrows pulling together. “You don’t think all this weeping makes me weak?”

“No. I think it makes you brave, because it also makes you soft, and sweet, and honest. And those might not be parts of yourself that you value—or other people see as valuable—but those are the real, raw, essential pieces of you. You deserve to share them with someone, and if that’s me, I’m honored to be that person. I will always, always treasure this side of you.”

Her wide eyes moved between mine, breathtakingly, exquisitely vulnerable. I knew it was selfish but seeing her exposed and defenseless mollified a primal desire I didn’t quite understand. It made me feel stronger, essential, necessary in a new way. Maybe because I was now necessary to her?

Whatever the reason, it also made my protective instincts swell. No one—and I mean No. One.—was going to fuck with her. Ever. No one would hurt her. No one would make her cry.

Uh, she’s crying right now.

Searching her face, I could see she was overwhelmed.

So, I made my voice mock-stern, saying, “Crying is allowed—cry all day, every day—but no more apologies,” guessing she both needed and wanted a reason to smile.

She did. And seeing her true smile made me smile in return.

Sniffling, she lifted an eyebrow. “Okay. Crying is fine, but no apologies. What else is allowed?”

My grin grew, my eyelids drooping, and I slid my hand from her cheek to the neck of her shirt, pulling it to one side, baring her shoulder. “I can think of some things. But first, we need to talk.”

Her smile faded somewhat, became dazed, her attention lowering to my lips. She licked hers. “How long do we have?”

I’d promised myself we wouldn’t do anything until plans and commitments were made, but I couldn’t help myself. Bending, I took my time biting, licking, and kissing the top of her shoulder. She shivered. She also tasted like heaven, and each swirl of my tongue increased the hunger.

“Two hours.” My voice was low, rough against the wet spot. Trailing my lips closer to her neck, I took another soft bite. Now that her skin was exposed, I couldn’t stop.

She started to moan. She stifled it, her fingers fisting in the front of my shirt as she offered more of her neck. “Only two hours?”

“I have to catch a plane. We have a concert tonight.” Reluctantly, I lifted my head, capturing her eyes again so she could see my regret. In that moment, my responsibilities to my bandmates, to my record label and my fans, they felt like handcuffs and a jail cell.

Her gaze—a mixture of disappointment and worry—turned scrutinizing. “Abram, you’re exhausted. Have you slept?”

“I slept a little on the plane from LA.”

She flattened her hand over my heart. “You have to take better care of yourself. Tours are stressful and exhausting. Please promise me you’ll get sleep tonight after the concert.”

“I will try.” Try being the operative word. Performing in front of thousands of people was an indescribable high. But four nights in, and the tour had only made the longing, my craving for her, worse. My attention and patience had narrowed, leaving room for nothing but filling my hands and mind and memory with Mona.

“You’ll try?” She narrowed her eyes, one side of her mouth tugging upward.

“I will. But after a concert, all the energy, and I’m thinking about you, wishing you were there, knowing it’s not possible. It’s . . .” I slid my teeth to the side, unable to stop my self-conscious grin.

“What?”

“Hard.” The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Her head tilted slightly to one side. “What’s hard? Going to sleep?”

She has no idea what she does to me.

My grin became rueful and I swallowed, my eyes moving between hers. “Please don’t make me say it.”

Mona’s eyebrows slowly pulled together. I could almost see the gears turning, and the hand still loosely fisted in my shirt slid down to the front of my pants, as though she were unthinkingly confirming a hunch. Her curious fingers gave me an investigatory stroke, but it was more than enough. I sucked in a breath through my teeth as my cock swelled, lengthened, hardened, greedy for her.

“You—you shouldn’t do that.” Not trusting myself to hold her and not tear her clothes off, I braced my palms and forehead on the door behind her, again willing my heart to slow.

“Ah! Sorry. Sorry!” Mona completely removed her hands from my body, yanking them away. “Sorry. I should’ve asked permission.”

Lifting my head, I peered down at her. She’d covered her face with her hands and was peeking at me from between her fingers.

“No.” The single word came out gruff, raspy. I cleared my throat, reaching for her wrist and pulling it away from her face. “No, Mona. Not permission. But, if we’re going to talk at all, you shouldn’t—do that—today.”