My hands are in her hair, on her face, pulling her closer. Her lips open under mine, and I take full advantage, deepening the kiss. Claiming her the way I've wanted to for three months.
She makes a sound against my mouth—part moan, part surrender. When I finally pull back, we're both breathing hard.
"Still think this is a bad idea?" I ask.
"Absolutely. But I don't care anymore."
"That's my girl."
"I'm not your?—"
But I kiss her again before she can finish.
Because she is mine. Has been since the moment she chose danger over safety.
And now she's finally admitting it.
The rest can wait. The rules. The world. The consequences.
Right now, there's just this—her mouth on mine, her hands in my hair, and the knowledge that I'm keeping her.
Forever.
12
LILA
The kiss ignites a primal spark in me—one I didn't know existed beneath all my carefully constructed normalcy.
His hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my face, sliding down to grip my waist. The sketchbook falls somewhere, forgotten. The pencil rolls away. None of it matters because Ivan is kissing me like he's drowning and I'm air.
"Ivan—" I try to speak, but he swallows the words.
His hands find the hem of my shirt—his shirt—and start pulling it up. Reality crashes back.
"Wait." I break the kiss, breathing hard.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. "Scared?"
"Yes."
"Good. You should be." His hands are still on my waist, warm through the fabric.
"This is wrong."
His thumb traces circles on my hipbone, sending electricity straight through me. "Feels pretty right to me."
My resistance crumbles as he strips the shirt over my head. Cool air hits my skin.
"No bra," he says, his tone sinking deeper. His eyes rake over me, hungry. "Beautiful."
I cover myself instinctively, but he catches my wrists.
"Don't hide from me."
"I'm not—I just?—"
"Panties under those shorts?" His hands move to the waistband.
