But when she rises up on her toes and presses her mouth to mine, every good intention I have burns to ash.
She tastes like whiskey and desperation.
Her hands fist in my cut, pulling me closer.
And I'm lost.
CHAPTER TWO
Ingrid
I’m kissing Gunnar.
That's the only coherent thought in my head as his mouth moves against mine, hot and demanding and nothing like I expected.
I’m kissing him.
And he's kissing me back like he's been starving for it.
His hands are in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, and I make a sound I don't recognize—desperate, needy, raw.
This was supposed to be simple.
Validation.
Proof that I still matter to someone, even if it's just for tonight.
But his kiss doesn't feel simple.
It feels like something breaking open inside my chest, something I've been keeping locked down for two years, and I don't know if I can handle it.
"Ingrid." He says my name against my mouth, rough and reverent, and it does something to me.
Makes me feel seen in a way I haven't felt since?—
No.
Don't think about them.
Don't compare.
This is just sex.
Just another night, another guy, another mistake I'll regret in the morning.
Except it's Gunnar.
Gunnar who came to get me.
Gunnar who always comes when I need him.
Gunnar who's looking at me right now like I'm something precious instead of something easy.
"We shouldn't—" he starts, pulling back slightly.
I cut him off with another kiss, harder this time, demanding.
"Don't," I whisper against his mouth. "Don't think. Don't talk. Just?—"
