His free hand roams my body, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. His fingers press into my hips, his palms exploring the curve of my waist, and I memorize the way he feels—strong, unyielding, yet impossibly tender. My hands run across the hard planes of his chest, his shoulders, and down his arms, marveling at the strength in his muscles. Every ridge and curve of his body is burned into my memory, and I can't stop myself from tracing them, wanting to know him in every way possible.

But it's not just a yes to this moment.

It's a yes to him—to everything he is and everything he's asking of me.

Because I know as I look into his wild, amber eyes, that I'd do anything for Nate Sullivan.

All he'd have to do is ask.

And I know how dangerous that is.

59. He Won't Hurt You Anymore

CHAPTER 59

HE WON'T HURT YOU ANYMORE

NATE

I can't believe what's unfolding right now. Here, against this worn oak table, stands the girl who's been etched into every atom of my existence. Not just in my thoughts—in my fucking bloodstream. Everything about right now feels primal and possessive, her hands digging into my shoulders like she's afraid I'll vanish. Each brush of her lips against mine rewrites everything I thought I knew about desire. It’s like someone set off fireworks under my skin, electric currents racing through every nerve ending.

Kissing her feels like coming up for air after drowning for years, and I'm gulping her in desperately. The distant hum of street traffic filters through the windows, but it might as well be on another planet. All that exists is this moment, this girl, this consuming need that's burning me alive from the inside out.

She pulls back just enough to look up at me, and fuck, the sight nearly brings me to my knees. Her eyes are wild, glassy with desire, pupils blown wide in the dim light. A strand of hair clings to her flushed cheek, and my fingers itch to brush it away, to feel more of that silky skin that's making me lose my goddamn mind.

My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I swear she must hear it.

"More." She whispers.

"More what, Len? Tell me."

"I need more,”

The words send electricity racing down my spine, pooling hot and urgent until I'm rock hard and aching for her. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I track the movement, mesmerized by how something so simple can make me feel like I'm being torn apart.

A laugh rumbles from my throat, dark and heavy with promise. The paradox of her drives me wild—the innocent curve of her cheek against the bold heat in her eyes, the soft sweetness of her smile masking the fierce want beneath. It's like watching an angel decide to fall, and knowing I'm the reason.