Turning to Stone (Heart of Stone: Book 2)

Chapter 15: Feelings

I knew almost instantly that we weren't on the same page. While I'd moved forwards numerous chapters since our banter at the table, Ed's mind had stayed focused on the dirty talk.

And for several minutes, I let myself slip back there. I arched my body firmly against his, moaning into his mouth as I fought the temptation to grind on his erection, and I welcomed the dominance of his tongue as it eased past my lips, twisting with my own while his fingers pinched at the skin of my waist.

This was easy and simple. Pure physical with no emotions. It was what we'd said it had to be if we were to delve back into that side of our relationship.

But that was before my agreement to be by his side metaphorically had moulded into a desire to be by his side physically. It was before he'd held my hand under the table to comfort me during Mark and Helen's interrogation, despite the fact we'd fought only shortly before. It was before my icy heart had melted watching him devote hours to those children. It was before he'd arranged the best night of Charlotte's life, just because I'd asked him to. And it was before he'd withered in shame from not knowing any of Hattie's songs, probably because he'd been more focused on fulfilling a request from me than getting to know her.

Ed broke away from the kiss, and concern briefly replaced the intense darkness in his eyes.

"You alright? I was joking about the bathroom, by the way. I'm not actually going to drag you in there..."

I hadn't realised that my reluctance had started to show, but we were here now. I was in the bubble, and I didn't want to leave. So I leaned into him again, closing my mouth around his bottom lip, sliding my fingertips along his neck until they sunk into his hair. This time it was different. It was tender. Gentle. Affectionate. It was everything I tried not to be with him.

And yet I melted into his body, my senses overloaded. Soft strands between my fingers and hard muscles against my front. The cautious palms of his hands as they skidded over my back, barely touching me but still setting my skin alight. Lips coming together and falling apart in perfect, instinctive synchronicity. A slow sweep of a tongue. A light squeeze of my waist. A gentle tug on his hair.

Remnants of passion fruit passed between us, without the spicy burn of alcohol, and I wondered if he'd joined me in drinking mocktails all evening, just like he used to choose soft drinks in solidarity with me on our European tour. As much as I wanted to go back to that time in our relationship so we could re-write history and avoid the mistakes we both made, we couldn't. We could only move forwards, and as we kissed in the dark corner of the club, the hungry passion replaced by more tentative affection, I tried to not think too much about what it meant for the future.

All that mattered was the here and now: the world loved and wanted this man, but it was me he was kissing. Me he was hiding away with—devoting his time to. And me who knew the real man behind the public mask.

With a sudden startle, Ed broke away, and my eyes flew open to see him staring at something over my shoulder.

"Sorry," he said, his voice quiet, almost hoarse. "Thought I saw something..."

But the moment was ruined. It wasn't so much the fear that we'd been caught, but rather the reality of our situation. I knew I'd turned that kiss into something it shouldn't have become. I'd crossed another line.

He'd kissed me back, but how much of that was real and how much was him rolling with it to save rejecting me? It was almost easier to think he'd played along purely to get me back to his room.

When he drew me back towards him, I planted my hands on his chest, stepping out of his grasp.

"Sorry." I plastered on a smile to disguise my true feelings. "I got carried away."