Free Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) by S. L. Scott Page B

don’t talk on the way back, anticipation building with our pace. As soon as I lock the deadbolt, he’s on me, pinning me against the door with his body, his mouth on my neck, hands in my hair. My right leg lifts seemingly of its own accord balancing against his hip. His hand grips my thigh, holding it up while sliding down.
    Breathless and with his eyes closed, he leans his forehead against mine. “You are driving me crazy, Jules. I feel out of control around you.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not used to that.”
    “You do the same to me,” I say with a breathy pant. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
    “And I thought I was special,” he teases.
    Leaning my head back against the door with a thud, I laugh. “You know what I mean.”
    “I know exactly what you mean.” Looking me in the eyes, a more serious tone takes over. “You all right with this?”
    “I am. Look, I find you attractive, extremely attractive and, well…” My body heats against his, wanting him. “You turn me on probably more than I should admit to. You have beautiful eyes,” I say because they are and the way they look at me makes me weak in the knees.
    He bites down on his bottom lip, gazing down at me, then says, “You have beautiful everything, Jules.” He kisses me.
    This is the moment. The moment I need to decide if I’m going to take this further. He’s made his feelings clear, but am I ready for more…
    Further .
    Further emotionally.
    Further physically.
    Further into a relationship with this man who seems to be perfect— a perfect man who is interested in me for some reason despite being broken. Does he not see that? Is it not as obvious on the outside? Have I become that good of an actress?
    He’ll find out and when he does I’ll lose him. But maybe…
    Maybe he can heal me.
    Maybe that’s why we seem to work right now.
    Maybe he needs me just as much.
    Maybe he’s broken on the inside too.
    He sighs, touching my cheek. “Hey there, where’d you disappear to?”
    I look down, ashamed that I got lost in the muss of thoughts clouding my brain instead of appreciating what’s right here, what’s tangible and real, loving and giving. I slide my hand up his neck to his cheek and look at him. His small smile shows his concern, despite trying to mask it. “I’m sorry,” I reply.
    “Jules, we can slow down if that’s what worries you.”
    I like the way his hands feel on me, gentle, patient, but firm. Strong. I lean forward tucking myself against him, resting my cheek on his chest and close my eyes.
    Inhale.
    Exhale.
    Inhale.
    Exhale.
    “I like you, Austin. Definitely more than I should—”
    “Why shouldn’t you? Tell me. Are we moving too fast?”
    “We messed around on our first date, but it took us three years to have a drink. So it’s fast in some ways and not in others, but I like it. You make me feel and I haven’t felt anything in a long time. It’s nice.”
    “You haven’t had feelings for anyone in a long time?”
    “Yes… and no. I’ve not felt anything at all for years. I’ve been numb.”
    “You were hurt.” He guesses right.
    I drop back against the door, not ready to face him, staring at the space that has developed between us when all I want is his warmth again, his hands all over me. Instead, he tucks them into his pockets, the exact opposite of what I want. “I was, but I’ve been hurting myself ever since.” I take him by the arm and walk to the couch.
    I deserve to be happy, I repeat, hoping one day I truly believe it. But for now, I convince myself that I’m good enough for this great guy. I swallow hard, then say, “It may sound strange, but I want this, you, what’s happening between us. I like it and I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to do this slow and careful. I just want to continue enjoying this.”
    He laughs, the weight of the conversation lifting. “I do too. I like what we’re sharing. I’ve not been in a real relationship in a few years,