Girl in Love(84)

He figured she’d been drinking. And of course it had to be bourbon.

His arms strained to distance her body from his, but she was firmly fucking attached and she was stronger than she looked.

“Kylie. Uh, babe,” he tried to say between kisses.

She ignored his pleas, sweeping her sweet little tongue into his mouth, across his teeth, and over his lips.

He couldn’t force himself to quit tasting her. There wasn’t enough willpower in the whole wide world. He let his tongue massage every inch of her lush, velvet, whiskey-soaked mouth. He sank down onto the mattress, and she straddled him.

Before he could stop her, she stood and pulled her dress over her head. Her skin was the perfect shade of golden in the glow of the lamp that was on in the room. He sat up so he could get the full view of her beautiful body.

And motherfucking son of every cussword he could think of. She was standing there in a white lace bra and a matching scrap of fabric that wasn’t substantial enough to be called underwear. And boots. She still had those damn boots on.

In all of his fantasies about her—and he’d had plenty—none of them were this fucking hot.

He knew it would take one finger, one sharp tug at the flimsy string, and her panties would be history. His throbbing dick begged him to do it, to remove that tiny barrier and let her wet heat slide over him.

But then she opened her eyes, and he could see the lack of focus in them. She was drunk. Maybe not wasted, but not sober enough to think straight, to make the kind of life-altering decision she was about to.

Clumsily, she began unbuttoning his shirt. She leaned down and brushed her lips against his. Her right leg came up and he grabbed her inner thigh to stop her forward progress.

If he felt that part of her, that warm, pulsating part he knew would be ready for him, against his dick again, he’d be done for.

“Dammit, Kylie. Stop.” His deep tenor echoed off the bedroom walls.

A sharp stabbing pang hit his lower stomach the moment she obeyed.

She flinched back and her eyes went wide as if he’d slapped her.

They had a problem. A big one.

He wanted to drink, wanted to pour caramel-colored bourbon down her entire body and lick it off every part of her.

He had his answer. She wasn’t a trigger, wasn’t a temptation. She was the temptation. The old him, the one who got drunk and said to hell with consequence, had room service bring up the bourbon and spent all night fucking her. Long and hard and only stopping when he could no longer remain conscious.

But somewhere along the line, she’d changed him. And that look, the trusting weight of it, was what had sealed his fate.

“You’ve been drinking, baby. I can taste it on you. We can’t do this. Not like this.”

Her lower lip trembled, and the cold fear in her expression nearly froze him in place. Her gaze retreated away from him so quickly he could practically hear her reconstructing the walls she’d let down temporarily.

“You’re serious,” she said tentatively, as if to make sure.

He considered smiling and pulling her back onto him. He could play it off like a joke. Act like he’d been testing her to make sure she wanted to go through with it.

“I am.”

“Oh, God.” She began to wilt right before his very eyes. Her chest caved, like someone had deflated her.

I was broken, dead inside. You made me feel alive.

And now he was doing the exact opposite.

He watched helplessly as she began scrambling to scoop her dress up off the floor.

“Whoa. Hey. Slow down.” He stood and wrapped his arms around her. Her entire body shook violently. Her slender arms came up against his expansive chest and attempted a weak shove.

“Let me go,” she begged.

“Wait. Just wait a damn second.”

Trace made quick work of pulling off his shirt and wrapping it around her. Her eyes met his as he buttoned the few middle buttons for her. The wounded expression in them nearly broke him. But he knew one of them had to be strong. Tonight it would have to be him.

“Kylie Lou, I want you more than you can even imagine. But we need to talk and we need to slow the hell down. Because the absolute last thing I want is for you to wake up tomorrow and wish this hadn’t happened.”

She let out a small huff of air. “Well I can pretty much guarantee I’m going to wake up tomorrow wishing this hadn’t happened.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I walked away, sorry that I hurt you, and sorry that this is going to be something you regret. But I’d take you regretting throwing yourself at me over you regretting me being inside you any day.”

She shivered. He tightened his grip around her. He could feel her heart racing like a frightened animal’s.