The fear.
Thewhat-ifs.
The secret curled beneath my ribs.
Gone.
His lips are warm and rough, and the way he kisses me, like he’s been waiting for permission, makes my chest ache and bloom at the same time. His hands frame my face like I’m precious. Like I belong to him, somehow.
And I let him.
I let myself lean in.
Melt.
Forget.
I grab the hem of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, and when he pulls back to breathe, I chase him without thinking.
“Josie,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “I need you.”
My forehead rests against his. My lips are swollen, my breath shaky, but my answer is steady.
“Then follow me.”
That’s all it takes.
We’re moving. Clumsy, desperate, bumping into doorframes and half laughing between kisses that don’t know how to end. His hands are everywhere, my waist, my back, threading into my hair like he’s trying to memorize me by touch.
We barely make it to the stairs.
I tangle my fingers in his and pull him after me, step by step, heart pounding in my throat. We don’t stop kissing. Not once. We pause for a breath, a heartbeat, a look that says this is real, and then it’s mouth to mouth again, greedy and aching and so much more than just attraction.
By the time we reach my bedroom, I’m shaking.
Not with nerves.
Withneed.
And I know I should tell him.
I should stop, sit him down, and say the words I’ve been carrying like a ticking clock:I’m pregnant.
But I don’t.
I kiss him harder instead.
Because right now, this is all I can handle.
Right now, I need tofeelsomething that isn’t fear.
Right now, I need to remember what it feels like to want something without guilt curling around the edges.
And I want him.
Someone help me, Iwanthim.
Inside my room, the door clicks shut behind us, and for a second, the silence stretches, thick with want, charged and humming.
