And help me, he does.
His gaze is molten. Alive. Lit from within by something that hums beneath my skin like electricity, dangerous andundeniable. The kind of want that’s not about lust or logic or timing. It’s about gravity.
I feel like I’m being pulled into orbit, and I don’t even care if I burn.
“Why are we doing this?” I whisper, my voice caught somewhere between wonder and panic.
My lips brush his as I speak, and the contact makes him inhale sharply, like he’s holding on by a thread.
His brow furrows, like I’ve asked him to solve a puzzle with no right answer.
“You tell me,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I’ll stop if you want. You just have to say it.”
My chest aches.
Because I know I should.
I know the smart move, the safe move, is to pull away. To remind him, remindmyself, why I’m keeping my distance.
But all of them evaporate when he looks at me like that.
I don’t say anything.
I can’t.
Because I don’t want him to stop.
I wantmore.
I want everything I’ve been too afraid to ask for.
So instead, I press my forehead to his and close my eyes. I feel the tremble in his breath when it brushes against my cheek. My hand slips up to his chest, fingers resting over his heartbeat like I’m trying to remind myself that this is real. That he’s real.
He lets out the softest sound, half groan, half exhale, as his hand slides to the back of my neck, thumb stroking behind my ear like he can soothe the war waging inside me.
This is dangerous.
This is inevitable.
And I should walk away.
Ishouldprotect my heart.
I should remember every reason this could fall apart, every complication waiting right outside this moment.
But right now?
Right now, I just wanthim.
His warmth. His steadiness. The way he makes me feel like I could shatter and still be safe in his arms.
So I open my eyes, lift my chin, and look at him like I’ve already made the decision I can’t take back.
“Take me out of here,” I whisper.
“You sure?” he asks as his eyes flare.
I nod.
