His breath hitches. For the first time,helooks rattled.
His hand slips from my jaw to the back of my neck, rough fingers threading into my hair. “Don’t do that,” he murmurs, voice husky.
“Do what?”
“Pretend this is some passing lust.”
I smirk, but my heart is pounding like a stampede. “Isn’t it?”
His grip tightens just enough to make my knees weak. “You really think I’ve been losing sleep over you because I’m horny?”
I arch a brow. “Aren’t you?”
He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re in every corner of me, Phern. Every fight I pick. Every damn song I can’t listen to because it reminds me of you. You think Iwantto feel this way about you?”
My throat goes dry. “Then don’t.”
His lips find mine again. Slower this time, deeper. Less rage. More ruin. And this time, when I kiss him back, it’s not about defiance or teasing or what lines we shouldn’t cross. It’s about finally letting go of everything we’ve been holding in.
“You drive me crazy,” he says, pressing a kiss against my jaw.
“Feeling’s mutual, cowboy.”
He chuckles, but it’s low and dark, the sound of a man pushed right to the edge. “You say that like you’re not the one with your foot on the gas.”
His lips trail down my jaw, grazing the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. I shiver, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
“You always talk this much before you kiss someone?” I whisper, breath catching.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze molten, hungry. “Only when I’m trying not to screw it up.”
“Too late.”
That does it.
His mouth crashes back onto mine with a heat that steals my breath, his hands anchoring me like I might slip through his fingers. The kiss is messy and desperate. It’s years of tension snapping all at once. I melt into him, opening my mouth to his, letting the kiss deepen until we’re both gasping.
But then I think of all the reasons why this is a bad idea, and I pull away. I take a shaky step back, wiping at my mouth like that might erase what we just did. It doesn’t.
“I—I can’t,” I say, though my voice doesn’t sound like mine.
Will’s jaw clenches. “Can’t or won’t?”
I look away. Anywhere but at him. Because if I meet those eyes again, I’ll fold.
“You’re Sam’s best friend,” I manage. “You’re you. And I’m—” I shake my head. “This was a mistake.”
He lets out a harsh breath, like I’ve taken the wind right out of him. “Don’t call it that.”
“What else would you call it?”
He steps forward, slow and deliberate, like I might bolt. “I’d call it real. I’d call it the first damn thing that’s made sense in a long time.”
My chest aches. “That’s the problem.”
“Phern…” His voice softens, but there’s steel beneath it. “I meant what I said. I’m not playing games.”
I swallow. Hard. “Then maybe we shouldn’t have crossed the line at all.”
