“Just that...?”
“No, nothing. It’s stupid.”
She turns to leave, but I catch her wrist and pull her toward me. My arms slip around her waist, and her hands press against my bare chest.
“It’s not stupid, Marshall. Just what?”
She looks at me intently, but still doesn’t speak.
“Baby...” I whisper, forgetting I wasn’t supposed to call her that anymore. But it’s impossible to hold back now.
It’s like that word triggers something in her, because her gaze changes—no longer uncertain, but blazing, hungry.
“It’s just that I don’t want you only like a best friend. And you’re the only one who can set my heart on fire too, Cooper.”
Her lips crash onto mine before I can answer. Her hands slide into my hair, tugging, desperate, and I lift her off the ground. She locks her legs around my waist, clinging to me as though she’s afraid to let go.
I stumble backward, kicking the door shut with my heel, the sound echoing through the apartment. Her mouth tastes like rain and grapes, sweet and intoxicating, and I can’t get enough of it. She moans softly against my lips, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine.
“Neither do I,” I murmur against her mouth, before kissing her again, deeper, harder.
I press her back against the wall, her hoodie sliding up under my hands as my palms trace the warm skin of her waist. Her breath catches, sharp and trembling, when my thumbs stroke lower, brushing the edge of her jeans.
Her fingers claw at my shoulders before dragging up into my hair, tugging hard, forcing me even closer. Her nails bite, delicious and demanding, and my body answers before I can think—I pin her tighter, mouth crashing into hers.
Twelve years of restraint burn away in a single heartbeat. There’s no hesitation now, no distance—only the heat of her pressed against me, our laughter breaking into kisses that grow messier, hungrier, until I can barely breathe.
She arches into me, hoodie riding higher, her stomach bare against my chest. I can feel every tremor of her body, every ragged inhale as my hands slide up her ribs, my thumbs grazing the swell of her breasts through the thin fabric. She shudders, gasping into my mouth, and the sound nearly undoes me.
I kiss her harder, tasting rainwater on her lips, then drag my mouth to her throat, to her collarbone, biting just enough to make her gasp again. Her legs shift, parting instinctively, pulling me closer until I’m pressed flush against her.
“God, Nova...” My voice is rough, strangled with want.
Her lips graze my ear, hot and trembling. “Don’t hold back anymore. Please.”
Her hips roll once against mine, slow and deliberate, and the jolt of pleasure nearly buckles my knees. My grip on her tightens, desperate, and I thank Sam—thank the whole damn universe—that he’s not here tonight. Because with Nova looking at me like this, with her body begging for more against mine, stopping isn’t just impossible. It’s unthinkable.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Nova Marshall
PRESENT (2023)
"If you really love guitar, you're going to
Spend every waking hour stroking the thing."
Frank Zappa
––––––––
Vincent shuts the door to his room with his foot and leans back against it while holding me tight. I twist a strand of his hair around my finger and catch his lower lip between my teeth, tugging him closer.
With one hand, he blindly fumbles for the light switch, but I stop him.
I pull back for a second to glance around his room. The small lamp on the nightstand next to his double bed is already glowing, and I smile faintly. His acoustic guitar lies on the bed, surrounded by a sea of crumpled papers.
“Is everything all right?” he asks, still holding me in his arms.
