Free Burn for Me by Shiloh Walker

blaming the wrong man. You spent fifteen years putting yourself in a box, only letting bits and pieces of yourself out because you were afraid you’d be just like him. You are like him, Tate. He isn’t a killer. He’s just a stubborn, headstrong man.”
    “But that’s part of the problem.” He pressed his brow to hers. “I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to be the kind of man who’d say things that sent a woman running out in the middle of the night. I don’t…”
    “Tate.” A soft sigh escaped her, ghosting over his lips. “You can have some traits without being him made over. You decide the kind of man you’re going to be. You’re more likely to hurt me by closing me out than by anything you say.”
    Stroking his thumb across her temple, he closed his eyes.
    She smoothed her hands down his shirt and then turned her face into his neck. “You’ve had a rough day. Why don’t you come inside for a while? You can dry off and wait until the storm passes.”
    He lifted his head and looked into her eyes.
    “Then go home?” he murmured.
    Go home …
    Those words sent her heart to racing. No. She didn’t want him going home, not at all.
    But she wasn’t throwing herself back out there again unless she knew he was going to be with her.
    “I think you need to look at all of this, and make sure you know what you want,” she said haltingly, staring at the column of his throat. Much safer territory than his eyes. She felt lost every time she did that and if she looked there now and saw the heat and the hunger and the confusion and the love …
    “I know what I want.” He tugged her head back and dipped his own, pressed his brow to hers. His free hand fisted the back of her shirt and it left her feeling surrounded by him. “I want you. I’m scared to death and you’ll have to kick my ass along the way, but I want you, and everything that comes with it.”
    Oh. Well. Hell.
    Now she was really lost.
    For a long, long moment, he stared at her and then, slowly, he slanted his mouth over hers. He pressed her back against the wall of the house, the strength of his body pinning her to it as her muscles went lax. His tongue toyed, tangled with hers. Her heart slammed against her ribs as he slid his hands up her sides, danced the tips of his fingers along her neck before plunging them into her hair to arch her face to his.
    “Ali-girl.” He rubbed his lips against hers before pressing a hot, burning line of kisses down her neck. “My girl.”
    She twisted her hands in his shirt, sucking in a desperate breath. He shifted against her and her pussy clenched when she felt the hard, heavy ridge of his cock. Hunger and need ripped through her.
    Lost … yes. She was lost. She didn’t care.
    *   *   *
    He barely had the brainpower to realize they were on the porch.
    Her lit porch.
    Groaning, he managed to stumble inside and kick the door shut and that was where his control ended.
    Spinning around, he put her against the door and leaned back, grabbing the hem of her shirt. It was wet now, thanks to his own sodden clothes and he ran his fingers down the transparent cloth. Through it, he could see the outline of her bra, the soft swell of her breasts, the elegant line of her torso. He wanted to go to his knees before her and worship her, wanted to press his lips to every damn inch of her. Slowly, he lifted his gaze up to meet hers. “I got you all wet.”
    “So you did.” She licked her lips.
    “Should I do something about it?” He made himself hold back. He’d been so fucking unfair to her, holding back from everything they both wanted, both needed. He needed this … now. With her. She wanted it. But if he’d pushed her so far away that she wasn’t ready for this …
    A slow smiled curled her lips. “Well, you’re a big boy, Tate. It’s time you start taking more responsibility for things,” she teased. “You got me all wet. Now take care of it.”
    As she spoke, she curled her legs around