“Nova, don’t—”
She jumps up, grabs the box, and moves it under a balcony to shield it from the rain, then leaves it there. “Let’s go.”
“What? But—”
“Let’s just go. Now!” she pleads, grabbing my wrist. “Please, Vincent. I wanna go home.”
I just nod. “Okay.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders as I lead her out of the alley. Nova hides her face against my rain-soaked shirt, and I feel her trembling. I stop, scoop her up into my arms, and she wraps her legs around my waist, burying her face into the crook of my neck.
I can hear her crying as I carry her toward Sam’s car. I can hear the rain hammering down on us, her uneven breaths, and I know her heart is shattered—and no number of dances in the rain will ever be enough to piece it back together.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispers in my ear through her tears.
I hold her tighter, and once we reach the car, I slide into the passenger seat with her still in my arms.
Her crying’s not frantic. She never cries out loud. Hers is the broken kind—the kind that’s silent but heavy with pain. She clings to me, arms wrapped around my neck, our soaked clothes soaking the car seats.
“One kiss.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
Her red, tear-stained eyes lock on mine. The sun’s staring back at me with the saddest look I’ve ever seen, and there’s nothing I can do to make her happy.
And then—her voice, raw: "A kiss. Just one kiss. We don’t have to talk about it later. I just... I just need—"
I don’t let her finish. I cup her face, leaning in, kissing her like it’s the last time I’ll ever get the chance.
Her lips are trembling at first, fragile, hesitant, but then she melts into me, arms wrapping around my neck, and the kiss deepens—hungry, desperate, full of everything we’ve been holding back for months. She tastes like rain, salt, and heartbreak, and it makes me ache in a way I can’t control.
I drop my glasses onto the driver’s seat and press my hips against hers, feeling the wet friction through our clothes. She straddles me, grinding slowly, and I groan low, hips rocking unconsciously against hers. The movement is teasing, slow, intimate—and it leaves us both trembling, breathless, aching for more.
Her hands grip my hair, tugging me closer, mouth pressing against mine in desperate, urgent strokes. Her hips roll against mine, soft at first, then sharper, more insistent, and I can feel every inch of her through the fabric. Every motion carries desire, but also a raw, heartbreaking need we both know can’t last.
“We’re just friends... we can’t—” she whispers, voice trembling against my mouth.
“I know,” I murmur, breath hot in her ear, before pressing my lips back to hers, clinging like letting go isn’t an option.
We move together, hips rolling and grinding, the friction driving shivers through both of us. Her hands roam over my chest, clutching me as if she could hold onto me forever. Every brush of our bodies is electric, every gasp and moan laced with the ache of knowing this is fleeting.
“Five more minutes,” we murmur together, voices raw, desperate, trying to carve time into our favor.
It doesn’t feel like five minutes. It feels like the last forever we’ll ever have. Her hair falls across my face, her lips swollen and trembling, her breath mingling with mine. Every movement is charged with longing and heartbreak, every shiver a testament to what we can’t hold.
I trail my hands over her back and hips, pressing her closer, rolling against her slowly, memorizing the curve of her body, the warmth, the way she fits against me.
“I wish...” she whispers against my lips, voice fragile, “I wish this didn’t have to end.”
“Me too,” I breathe, resting my forehead against hers, holding her tighter, grinding gently against her, feeling her ache for me even through the clothes. “But right now... we have this. Just this.”
Her lips press to mine, soft, desperate, trembling, as we move together in slow, urgent rhythm, clinging to each other as if this friction, this closeness, could imprint us forever—though we both know it’s only temporary.
By the time I finally drive her home, my shirt’s not as soaked as it was, my lips are bruised, and my heart feels like it’s no longer mine. She gets out of the car without a word, only a nod, running toward her apartment door.
And I sit there in the driver’s seat, chest heaving, still tasting her on my lips, wondering how the hell I’ll ever go back to “just friends.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
