Captain Mathis relaxes once more. He rests his head beside mine, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. Taking my wrists, he pins them loosely by my head. His breathing is fast like mine.
"I can't do this," he whispers at last, his lips moving against my ear.
"Can't do what?" I tug at my arms.
He holds them in place, not moving.
"Fuck you."
A thrill spirals through me at his blunt words. Our bodies are pressed together, complete intimacy prevented by the thin fabric of his sweatpants. His arousal presses against my tender nether lips. So close …
"I shouldn't have done that," he adds. "Shouldn't have kissed you."
My body burns for him, my blood humming. My senses are scattered to the four winds, and I breathe in his scent, letting it intoxicate me. I'm an emotional, sensual person, and the sensations of his body - the combination of soft skin and hard muscle, of his rough passion and cool control - is killing me. I need him.
I've never needed anyone.
There's a small voice warning me that Captain Mathis isn't the kind of person who does a one night stand, and I'm not looking for a relationship with the man who killed my brother. It's rare when I feel overwhelmed by someone the way I do him. I'm a split second from begging him, and I never beg. My will power is pretty much Swiss cheese.
Maybe it's a good thing he's backing out. God knows I won't. I'm a slave to my emotions, no matter what the consequences.
We lay together quietly, both so beyond turned on, it's insane that we aren't going through with it. Maybe that's why he's holding my wrists, because he knows I don't have an ounce of restraint. The amount of passion in his kiss tells me sleeping with him will be the best night of my life. He's too observant not to be an attentive lover, too proud not to be the best a woman's ever had, too controlled and patient not to give me as much as I can take before he gets off.
This is killing me! I try to rein in my hormones and focus on something other than fucking Sawyer Mathis. Recalling the nightmares that got us to this point helps cool my ardor some.
"I just wanted to help you," I whisper. "Petr had the night terrors every night for a few weeks. I was the only one to help him. I used to crawl into bed with him the way my mom did me when I had nightmares."
He's listening quietly, his grip on my wrists secure while his body remains atop mine. If dealing with Captain Mathis baffled me before, I'm not sure what to think now.