“You are it for me,” I whisper, softer now but no less fierce. “So let me do this. Let me fight for you.”
For a heartbeat, silence swallows us whole. My confession hangs in the air, jagged and raw, like something torn out of my chest.
Her eyes widen, glistening. Her lips part, trembling, but not with fear. With truth.
“I love you too,” she whispers, the words tumbling out like a secret she’s been choking on.
My world stutters. Then it roars back to life.
I crush my mouth to hers, fierce and hungry, a kiss that tastes of desperation and salt. She clings to me, her fingerstangling in my shirt, pulling me closer like she’d crawl inside my skin if she could. I press her harder against the wall, devouring her lips, her breath, her everything, because the thought of leaving her after this nearly kills me.
Her sob turns into a gasp against my mouth, and I swallow it down, kissing her deeper, pouring every vow, every promise into her. My hands grip her hips, her waist, her jaw, frantic in the need to remind her, remind myself, that this is real—that she is mine and I am hers.
When I finally break for air, my forehead rests against hers, both of us panting, our lips swollen and damp. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” I whisper, voice hoarse, my thumb brushing her cheek where her tears shine. “But I’ll come back to you. Always.”
I kiss her again. My mouth drags down her throat, her pulse hammering against my lips, and her moan is the softest, sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. My hands are everywhere—sliding up beneath her shirt, gripping her thighs, hoisting her against me until her legs wrap around my waist like she was made for this, for me.
Her fingers claw into my shoulders, into my hair, urging me closer, deeper, until I’m grinding into her, the heat between us scorching, unstoppable. She’s gasping my name, whispering I love you into my mouth, and I want nothing more than to take her here, now, against this wall until the whole damn world forgets we exist.
But I can’t. Not like this. Not when the blood on my hands is still fresh and more will spill before the day is done.
I tear my mouth from hers, breath ragged, pressing my forehead to hers as she clings to me. For a moment, I just hold her there, my heart thundering like a war drum, my body aching with restraint.
Her eyes search mine, glassy and desperate, and I kiss her again—slower this time, softer, a promise instead of a claim. My hands cradle her face as I lower her feet back to the floor, though every muscle in my body screams against it.
“I want you so badly,” I rasp, voice thick with need, “but not like this. Not with me about to walk out that door.”
She holds onto my shirt, refusing to let go, but I gently pry her hands free and kiss her knuckles. “When I come back…” I whisper, pressing one last kiss to her lips, lingering, “we’ll finish this.”
I break away from her and head to the door. My hand is already on the door when her voice catches me.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
The words crash through me, louder than gunfire, sharper than any blade. For a heartbeat, I don’t breathe. I don’t move. Every instinct in me wants to turn back, to demand answers, to let the weight of what she just said drag me to my knees. But I can’t—not now. Not with Anton circling like a vulture and blood already staining the ground.
So I force myself to stillness.
I step back, cross the space between us, and cup her face in my palms. I lower my lips to her forehead, lingering there longer than I should, burning the memory of her into me before I walk into the fire.
“I’ll be back very soon,” I tell her, my voice low, steady, betraying nothing of the storm she’s just unleashed inside me.
Then I let her go.
I walk out without looking back, because if I do, I won’t be able to leave at all.
Chapter 19 – Noelle
The moment the door clicks shut behind him, the quiet of the penthouse presses down on me like a weight I can’t lift. My chest tightens as I throw myself on the bed. My hands clutch the sheets as the fear that I’ve been holding at bay for so long finally breaks through.
Tears spill before I can stop them, warm and sudden, tracing lines down my cheeks. I didn’t realize how much I needed him until he wasn’t there. I know, rationally, that he’ll come back. He promised me. He always comes back. But knowing it in my head doesn’t touch the hollowness in my chest, the terror that coils in my stomach every time he steps into danger.
I curl into myself, wishing he were here to hold me, to tell me it’s all okay, that nothing can touch me while he’s around. My mind spins with the thought of him, out there, facing whatever threat Anton has laid in his path. My heart twists with helplessness—I can’t follow, I can’t protect him, and the truth of my love for him claws at me like it’s alive.
“Come back,” I whisper into the emptiness, my voice cracking. “Please…come back to me.”
I bury my face in the pillow, letting the sobs shake me, letting the fear and love and longing mingle into something raw and messy. And even as I cry, a flicker of comfort warms me: he promised. He will return. He has to.
I stay like that, curled up on the bed, hands clutching the sheets, waiting. Waiting for the sound of his steps, the brush of his hand, the warmth of his arms that I crave more than anything.
