I shut my eyes tight, and an irresistible smile starts pulling at my lips. I could fool myself into thinking that this is something that friends do, that it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m not so sure that I want to be fooled anymore.

I’ve spent my whole life following along with whatever Dad wanted me to do. And when he wasn’t busy constricting my life, I was doing it for him.

And now . . . I think it might be time to loosen the reins and let myself breathe.

Cautiously, I lay my arm over the top of his that’s draped over my waist. He doesn’t bother with caution. Boldly, he laces our fingers together before tucking both our hands between my side and the cushion, his arm wrapped firmly around my middle.

The show is interesting . . . with angel statues that come alive, basically ensuring that I’ll never be able to turn my back to any statue again. Ever. But I’m more concerned with the person at my back now.

Halfway through the episode I say, “Carson?”

“Hmm?” He lifts his head off the pillow, leaning down and resting his chin against my shoulder.

I don’t breathe before I ask, “Could you walk away?”

He locks up behind me and the hand still holding mine flexes. I find myself glad for the way we’re lying because I know I couldn’t have asked this with him looking at my face.

“Are you asking me to?”

There’s a hint of emotion in his voice that makes me wish I could see his face without having to return the favor.

“No. I’m just asking if you could.”

He exhales, his breath hot against the skin of my neck, but he doesn’t relax.

“I don’t know how you want me to answer this, Dallas. I’m scared I’m going to give the wrong answer, and you’re going to be the one walking away.”

“Just tell me the truth. Honesty, right? This is a safe space.”

I didn’t think there was any more space to be had between us, but he tugs me back forcefully, plastering our bodies together. I can feel his body’s answer against my behind before he whispers against my ear, “No. I can’t walk away from you.”

It should scare me, but mostly I’m just glad I’m not the only one.

His lips touch my neck, and I want him so badly that my body arches into his from that tiny connection.

“I can’t walk away from you because I don’t want to. There are a thousand things I want and need to do, but you trump all of them. You drive me to distraction, and all I want to do is get lost in you. All I want to do is make you lose it, too.”

His lips skim up my neck, not quite kissing, just teasing before he plants a firm kiss on the corner of my jaw.

“Is that the answer you wanted? Or have I scared you off?”

“You definitely scare me.” His head falls back against the pillow, and his hand releases mine. I grab hold, not letting his arm fall from around my waist. “But I’m not walking away either.”

His arm tears away from me anyway, but it’s to lift himself up off his side. I roll onto my back to look at him; he hovers above me, his arms braced on each side of me.

“Do you know what you’re saying? Because you’re not exactly free of mixed signals, Cole. And I don’t think I can take kissing you again if you’re just going to turn around and tell me we can’t.”

I slide myself back a little, propping myself up on the pillow he vacated. His eyes watch me, hungry and hooded, and nerves dance low in my belly. I touch his forearm, now lined up with my hips since I moved. I trace my fingers up his arm, past his elbow, following the path of his muscles up toward his shoulder. Then, remembering the massage I gave him the other night and the warning he gave me about kissing me senseless, I lean forward and place an identical kiss on his arm, just below his shoulder.

The sound that rumbles in his throat immediately takes me back to our first kiss. And when his lips slam into mine, my mouth is already open.

His tongue sweeps in, demanding and daring, pushing just hard enough that I know how very serious he is without overwhelming me. I angle my head farther to the side, kissing him deeper. He lifts himself a little higher, kneeling on the couch, and I sit up more to follow. Without warning, his hands curl around my knees, and he yanks me down off the pillow, pulling my knees apart and settling all his weight down on me.

I gasp into his mouth, and his hands encourage me to wrap my legs around his hips. I do, and I’m drowning in him. His taste. His scent. His sounds. They swarm around me, dousing me in desire, and I welcome his weight.

With his chest and hips crushed against me, it’s almost like he’s pushing out everything else but him. All those niggling little fears and doubts and what-ifs are buried beneath the ache he’s spinning in me.

His hands run down the outsides of my thighs, curling around my ass and lifting me up just a little while his hips bear down into mine, and I swear my vision goes a little fuzzy. For the first time in a long time, I think about what it would be like to be with someone again, to be with him. I imagine our clothes disappearing, skin sliding against skin, the noise he’ll make when he slides into me.

I haven’t had sex since that one time with Levi. I haven’t wanted to. But now I want it so badly that I’m shaking. I lower my hands to the hem of his T-shirt, and at my tentative tug, he lifts up just enough to help me pull it off.

I swallow and stare and swallow again, because dear, sweet Jesus riding a unicorn, he’s perfect. Hard contoured muscles slope toward the broad plane of his chest. And I have this sudden unfamiliar longing to taste the muscled ridges of his abdomen.

“I will never gripe about you working out too long ever again.”

His answering smile is toe-curlingly brilliant, and the warmth that had been building in my center erupts into a flame. He leans down to nuzzle his lips against my neck, and I grip his waist, my hands sliding perfectly along the V of muscles above his hips. One hand brushes the line of hair leading down from his navel, and he groans, nipping my neck in response.

Shuddering, I want to pull him back down onto me, wrap my arms around him, and feel the heat flowing off his skin. But he disappears from over me, sliding down until he’s hovering above my hips. He lifts up my shirt, not taking it off, but just pushing it up enough to bare my stomach. Then he settles down onto his elbows and lays his open mouth against my hip.

The warm touch of his tongue draws a moan from my mouth, and he glides his hands up, slipping beneath my shirt and curving around my ribs. His fingers are so close to my chest, and if the fiery path of his mouth along my belly didn’t have me so rigid, I might have been tempted to arch my chest toward him.