Read Online Hearts Under Siege by Natalie J. Damschroder - Free Book Online Page A

sharp noise forced itself out of his throat. She leaned into him, offering herself as support, and he clutched her against his chest, burying his face in her neck. His entire body tightened, harder, harder, and Molly held her breath, waiting for the explosion. And also because his arms were banded so tightly across her back she had no room to draw in air.
    The explosion didn’t come. Instead his muscles slowly loosened, a deliberate progression as he held tightly to his control.
    He couldn’t go on like that, she knew. Mustn’t. He had to give in now, while they were safe, so he didn’t cave at the worst moment, later.
    “Brady, love,” she murmured, raising her head and cupping his face in her hands. “It’s okay. Let go.”
    …
    I can’t .
    Brady couldn’t form the words. Couldn’t explain to Molly that he was afraid if he released the rage and hatred and bone-deep sorrow caged within him, he would never be able to regain control. If he was uncontrolled, he couldn’t protect her, or the data he was trying to get home. He stood still, his hands resting on her waist because he couldn’t seem to let her go, and she stroked his hair back from his face, murmured to him, comforted him. He wanted to accept it, to sink into her and let her absorb his pain, and he knew she’d let him. But she had her own grief, her own burdens. She didn’t need his, too.
    Somehow, her body had curved closer, and suddenly, his awareness of her shifted. It wasn’t comfort he craved anymore, and his brain clicked off just as a sharp warning flashed across it. He closed his eyes, dropped his head, and for the first time in their three-decade friendship, he kissed his best friend.
    Her mouth was soft and warm, and tasted familiar and strange at the same time. She didn’t hesitate, just opened to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body— Oh, God, she was so soft and curvy and clean and smelled so sweet and she was strength and power and so many things he’d pretended for twelve years he didn’t miss, didn’t need. He tugged her closer still. She arched, rubbing against his sudden erection, and hunger blazed through him, blinding in its intensity. His hands roamed up and down her back, over her hips, and her surprisingly tight ass. The noises she made in the back of her throat inflamed him even more.
    “God, Molly,” he gasped, tilting his head back but not seeing the ceiling above him, only a red haze. “I need you. Please—”
    “Yes,” she said, and pulled his head down to kiss him again, her tongue stroking his, her mouth open, carnal. He slid his hands under her tank top and the feel of her skin was so soft, so hot, he stripped it up over her head, and dropped his hands immediately to her breasts. Her nipples were tight and hard—a sign of her arousal that some minuscule, rational part of his brain catalogued with relief. She wanted this, too. He wasn’t pushing himself on her.
    She tugged and shoved his shirt off, too, then her hands were rubbing him, all over, her fingers digging in to the muscles of his shoulders, his arms, his back, sending flares of desire every time she clutched at him. Once her nails pricked him, and he gasped, thrusting forward and nearly knocking her over. That fleck of rationality grew slightly larger, nagging at him. He latched on to Molly’s neck, breathing in her clean, musky scent, her arousal now noticeable that way, too. He told the rational nag to shut the fuck up, but that only made it fight harder.
    “Shit.” He squeezed his eyes shut, hard, and set Molly off him an inch or so as he tried to regain a measure of control.
    “What?” She was breathless, too, her fingers undoing his fly and dipping—
    He grabbed her wrist and ground his teeth. “Whoa. Hold on.”
    “Brady, come on,” she growled. “What’s wrong?”
    “Is this— Are you— I can’t, if—” He couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.
    But she understood. “Yes, God, yes, fuck me,