Fuck.

I leaned down and pulled my shoes off, my fingers shaking, dick jerking at the thought of even having a taste of what I’d lost. My hands went to the button of my jeans. I dragged them down my hips, taking off my shirt next, feeling her eyes on me the entire time, her gaze hungry.

My balls ached.

I pulled back the covers and slid into bed next to her, careful to keep from hitting her injured side.

Before I would have curled her body into mine. Now I just lay there awkwardly, an arm’s length away, listening to the sound of her breathing, her familiar scent surrounding me once more.

I lay on my back, my arms at my sides, mimicking her position, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what came next, trying to temper the urge to slide between her thighs. Things between us had been intense last night, but everything now felt different. Her injury and our conversation reminded me that for as much as I was used to her bravado, there was a fragility about her. I didn’t want to hurt her, and right now it felt like there were too many possibilities for me to do her harm.

I closed my eyes, some of the tension easing from my body, the rhythmic sound of her breathing lulling me. I prayed that I could keep the nightmares away tonight, that I wouldn’t wake her with the screams that came from my memories of hell, that my body wouldn’t thrash in bed, injuring her further.

This was a mistake. A dangerous one.

“I’m going to go back to the chair. This isn’t a good idea.”

“Why?”

My voice tightened, pushing past the lump in my throat. “I don’t sleep well.”

Understatement of the fucking year.

“The nightmares?” she asked, her voice soft again, sliding over me and chipping away at my pathetic resolve.

“Yeah.” I was quiet for a beat. “I get pretty violent in my sleep. Forget where I am sometimes. I don’t want to hit your stitches.”

“Do you always dream?”

She wasn’t touching me, and yet something in the way she spoke to me made me feel as though she were stroking me, soothing me.

“No.”

She reached out, her fingers curling around mine, holding me in place. “Stay. Please.”

I didn’t pull my hand away.

“What are we doing here?” I croaked.

Kate’s fingers glided over my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “Forgetting. For a while, at least. Pretending we’re just a boy and a girl. No hired hitmen, or faked deaths. Time traveling.”

It was like someone had just dropped a fifty-fucking-pound weight on my chest.

Her fingers slid out of my grasp, stroking my palm, the touch somehow both soothing and seductive.

I bit down on my lip.

There had been other women. Four years was a long time, and I’d thought I’d lost her forever, and I wasn’t a monk. I’d felt sick each time, the encounters cloaked in too much alcohol and a kind of self-loathing that came from knowing I’d made a mistake. No one else had ever given me the sense of peace she did. And at the same time, I’d never ached for anyone, not like this, the kind of physical pain for which there was no relief.

I’d been her first, and while we’d eased into sex, the age and experience difference between us always at the forefront of my mind, things between us had been electric. As with everything in her life, Kate had thrown herself into sex with a kind of wanton abandon that had been a fucking dream. She’d managed to be both dirty and sweet, a fantasy and memory I’d carried with me even after I’d lost her.

I wanted a taste of it again. Badly.

She knew it, too.

Her fingers drifted up my arm, sliding along the inside of my wrist, up my forearm, before dragging back down. Magic touches that were too much and not enough at the same time. My breath grew ragged, my dick throbbing.

“You’re going to hurt your stitches,” I muttered, clinging to the last vestiges of sanity before I completely lost myself to her.

She flashed me an amused grin with a naughty gleam. “I’m just touching your arm.”

A hiss escaped as she raked her nails across my skin. “It’s never just ‘touching my arm’ with us.”

“True,” she purred.

“We can’t have sex,” I ground out, my voice raspy. “Not with your injury.”

“We can do other things.”

Oh god.

My control snapped.

Her hand left my arm and then I felt her fingers sliding over me, caressing my cock through my boxer briefs.

Yes.

My hips arched toward her hand, wanting her wrapped around me, wanting to feel her bare flesh fisting my cock. I shifted, getting closer to her, making it easier for her to touch me without moving, giving her everything she wanted, the possibility of pleasure—mine and hers—too much to resist.

I groaned as I pressed myself into her hand, as her palm caressed the head of my cock through the thin fabric.

More.

“Take off your briefs,” she whispered, her breath hitching.

Yes.

I pulled the waistband down, careful to keep from bumping her in the bed. This was crazy, and probably a really bad fucking idea, and my cock definitely hadn’t gotten the message.

I leaned back against the pillows, my eyes closing as her fingers curved around the base, stroking me.

This.

I groaned. “Don’t stop. Please. You feel so good. So fucking good.”

She kept her touch lighter than normal, the force of her movements constrained by her injury and her inability to move. The slide of her hand, the sweep of her fingers, created both a delicious tease and utter torment.

More.

She took me to the brink, the pressure in my spine building, my balls tightening, the urge to come overwhelming. It was so close, I was so close, and yet it wasn’t enough.

She knew it, too.

Kate groaned. “This is definitely crimping our sex life.”

“It’s okay,” I hissed as her palm caressed the head of my cock, my body jerking at the sensitive touch as she swirled the drop of precum over my skin.

So fucking close.

“It’s not okay.” Her voice turned husky. “I want to watch you finish yourself off.”

Fuck me.

I teetered over the edge.

“I want to see you first,” I ground out, my body so fucking greedy.

How many times had I fantasized about her? How many times had I jacked myself off to the memory of her?

The fantasy had been amazing, but reality simply shattered me.

My hands shook as I reached up and slid the thin straps down her shoulders, struggling to keep my touch gentle despite the lust raging through my body. A line of goose bumps formed where my skin touched hers, her nipples hardening beneath the fabric of her top. I groaned, my fingers slipping under the thin cotton, cupping her breasts and pulling the top down. I swallowed at the sight of her bare flesh. Her body had changed in the years since I’d seen her—her breasts slightly fuller, her curves more pronounced.

I couldn’t resist.

I dipped my head, capturing her nipple between my lips with a wet pop, laving the tip with my tongue before sucking her deep, the taste of her—so fucking sweet—exploding in my mouth. Kate moaned, her back arching, offering herself up to me, her hands gripping my hair, yanking me toward her while I licked and sucked, until her nipple was rosy and tight, glistening from my mouth.

For a moment I pulled back and just stared at her, unable to resist the image in front of me. She gazed back at me with sleepy eyes and parted lips, lust etched all over her face. I could devote my life to making this girl happy.

My palm slid down her belly, careful to keep from brushing her bandage.

I met her gaze, my heart hammering. I pressed a soft kiss to her lips, licking into her mouth, my cock jerking at the knowledge that she could taste her skin on my tongue. I was so far gone, so past the point of being able to walk away. Hell, even when I’d tried before, she always yanked me back. Right now, there was no place I’d rather be.