Garth stared at me, unblinking in the dim light. “Stay.” His voice was rough with sleep.

I started to shake my head. “I really don’t think—”

“Please, Kat.” Garth sat up, wincing at the halfway point. “Stay.” He brought a hand up to my face and brushed a few strands of hair out of my eyes, tucking them behind my ear. He peered at me in the darkness, his eyes searching, assessing. “Stay with me.” He leaned in, and against my better judgement, I didn’t pull away.

His lips were soft and warm, his kiss gentle. Tentative. Almost chaste. His large hands settled on either side of my head, holding me like I was the delicate one. Like he was afraid of hurting me, when he was the injured one. The fragile one. The human.

“Stay with me,” he repeated, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. Parting mine. His breath was hot and minty, his tongue gentle, coaxing. Even as he deepened the kiss, that sense of restraint remained.

My hand settled on his chest, and I broke the kiss, resting my forehead against his. I stared into his midnight eyes, lips parted and breaths quick. Without breaking eye contact, I pushed him back and stood.

He propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze questioning. Was I pushing him away? Was I rejecting him? Was I leaving after all?

I pulled my oversized, borrowed sweatshirt over my head, then followed with the T-shirt. The necklace holding Dom’s mirrored pendant came next, and I set the chain on the bedside table.

The questions fled from Garth’s moonlit stare, replaced by a simmering heat. By desire. It sparked warmth low in my abdomen and need deep within my heart.

I slid the sweatpants down over my hips and crawled onto the bed. He watched me, seeming to devour my every movement as I pushed the sheets to the foot of the bed. I knelt on the mattress beside him and reached out, slipping the fingertips of my left hand under the waistband of his boxer briefs. His abs flexed as I traced the waistband from one side of his hips to the other, enjoying the smooth contours of his skin stretched over hard muscle, of the faint trail of dark hair running down from his belly button to his underwear and lower.

My heart thudded in my chest as my fingertips skimmed up the length of his torso, exploring the topography of his body, the feel of his skin, his reaction to my touch. He sucked in a shaky breath when my thumbnail grazed his nipple, and a pleased smile curved my lips. I raised my gaze to his once more, resting my hand on his chest. I pressed my palm against the tattoo over his heart, and he let his elbows slip out to the sides until his back was flat against the mattress.

Using both hands, I ran my nails down either side of his rib cage, careful not to put any pressure on his yellowing bruises. His breaths were coming faster, and not even remotely steady. Unlike his stare. It was locked on my face; I could feel it even when I wasn’t looking into his eyes.