The energy between us crackled with forbidden potential, and the way Axel was looking at me made me wonder if he might actually slide those hands over my body right here in the restaurant.
I pulled back, but Axel’s gaze remained locked on me, something fundamental having shifted between us. A shift I refused to acknowledge as anything more than physical chemistry. Inconvenient, unwanted, and absolutely meaningless.
Throughout the remainder of dessert, we maintained our performance, laughing at each other’s jokes, exchanging tender glances, my hand occasionally finding his arm or chest in rehearsed affection. But every casual touch now felt charged with the memory of his tongue on my finger, his words in my ear, the evidence of his desire.
My phone buzzed.
Rebecca: You’re doing GREAT. They took the bait. Keep it up.
Our eyes met. We were succeeding. So, why did victory taste so complicated?
Another buzz:
Rebecca: Don’t forget the kiss.
Well, shit.
Earlier tonight, kissing Axel had seemed revolting. Now I dreaded it for an entirely different reason: what if it wasn’t as revolting as I needed it to be?
My heart slammed against my ribs. All the heat and chemistry of the evening crashed into this single moment. No more delays. No more pretending this wasn’t about to happen.
Our gazes locked, and I saw my own conflict mirrored in his eyes.
Without a word, his hand cupped my cheek, thumb tracing my skin with tender slowness. He tilted his head. Paused, giving me one last chance to back out.
I didn’t. Because apparently, I had a death wish. Or a really specific type of masochism.
Time suspended itself in that breathless moment before impact, his face hovering over mine while I felt the heat of his breath, the pulse of anticipation.
Every thought scattered the instant his mouth found mine.
His lips were warm and absolutely devastating. At first, I could pretend that this was just for show, just for the audience because his mouth moved against mine with such careful restraint. Almost tentative. Like he was holding himself back by sheer force of will.
I should have been relieved by his control. Should have appreciated the safety of it.
Instead, I found myself pressing closer, chasing something I couldn’t name, and that’s when everything shifted.
Without thinking, I grasped the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, not because our script demanded it, but because my body suddenly, desperately needed more of him.
His response was immediate and fierce. His hand slid from my cheek to the nape of my neck, angling my head to deepen the kiss. The other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me as close as our seated position would allow.
When his tongue swept across my lower lip, seeking entrance, one coherent thought managed to surface through thehaze:We never discussed boundaries. We never talked about using tongue.
But then his tongue was sliding against mine in a caress that obliterated every rational thought, and I couldn’t bring myself to care about boundaries or scripts or anything except the taste of him flooding my senses. Wine and chocolate and something uniquely, intoxicatingly him.
My mouth opened for him completely, and the kiss transformed into something consuming. Something that felt far too real.
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but he was kissing me like he had been imagining this for years, like this fake engagement gave him the excuse to finally claim what he had been dreaming of. I could feel it in the desperation of his fingers tangling through my hair, drawing me closer as he gently tilted my head back for better access, deepening our kiss. I could hear it in the soft moans rumbling from deep in his throat. And I could sense it in the way our bodies pulled toward each other like we were magnetized, bound by some invisible force.
I had always wondered, in our ongoing rivalry, how much of it might have been misplaced passion. Now I knew: all of it.
Axel wanted this. Wanted us. I could feel it in every desperate touch, every hungry kiss. All these years of verbal sparring, of pushing and provoking—it had all been leading here. To this explosion of undeniable chemistry that neither of us could fake or fight anymore.
And God, that felt freeing. Like we'd been holding our breath for years and could finally exhale. Finally be honest about what had always simmered between us.
Because this had to mean something to him. It had to. I wasn't just some random girl. I'd known him for years, been through trauma and hell with him. He'd been by my side even when I pushed him away.
In this moment, something had shifted permanently between us. And I desperately hoped I wasn't the only one who felt it.
