"Jaegar," she breathed, her voice a shaky whisper lost in the rustling leaves above. It was meant as a protest, a final, feeble anchor to sanity.
It came out as a plea.
"You know we can't be doing this here," she murmured, the edge of a smile playing on her lips.
"Then stop me," he whispered.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips tracing a searing path up to her ear.
"You've been giving me these glances, Momma," he murmured, his voice a dark velvet that vibrated straight through her core.
"From the morning, during lunch, in the town's streets. I can feel your eyes on me. Don't pretend you didn't."
His words shattered the last of her resistance.
He was right.
She had.
The feeling of wanting to be close to him, touch him, and feel his strong hands on her—all the feelings she'd foolishly thought she could contain.
He turned her in his arms, his grip firm yet impossibly gentle.
