With one clean strike, it knocked my carefully built world off its axis.
After my dad died, I threw myself into creating a life that was safe, controlled, and predictable. I thought that would be enough. I thought that was what I needed to survive.
But now I see it clearly, it was never reallymylife at all.
And despite the fear, despite the chaos, I know exactly what I need to feel alive again.
Him.
This beautiful, brilliant, infuriating, unpredictable boy sitting right next to me.
As soon as we pull up to Shaftesbury Avenue, I thank the driver, get out, and walk around the car to open Seb’s door.
He gives me a shy smile, clearly flustered. “You didn’t have to do that, Remi…”
“wantedto,” I reply without hesitation. Then, before I can stop myself, I add, “Are you okay? I hope tonight wasn’t too much, the concert, and… well, everything else.”
He stops me with a small shake of his head. “I’m fine, Remi. Really.”
He takes my hand as he steps out of the car, and together we head upstairs.
We climb in silence. Step after step, the tension coils tighter, thicker, until it’s almost unbearable. By the time we reach our flat, the air between us is charged. Electric.
I unlock the door, push it open, and we barely make it inside before we’re on each other.
Hands, mouths, bodies, crashing together with a desperate urgency, slamming into the nearest wall like we’ve both been holding this in for far too long.
We kiss like we’re starving.
And maybe… we are.
Seb is quick and lithe, but I’m broader, stronger. I take the lead, though I can tell he’s letting me. I press him firmly against the wall, one hand gripping his waist, the other sliding into his hair, fingers curling tight as I tilt his head back and finally kiss the soft skin of his throat.
He gasps, tilting his head further, offering more.
And I take it.
I don’t hold back, licking, tasting, grazing my teeth along the curve of his neck. I want to mark him. To leave a trace of this moment on his skin. Proof that it happened, that it’s real.
He moans, hips grinding into mine, and I nearly lose control.
Our mouths crash together again, hot and frantic. Tongues tangling, breath catching, hands everywhere. His fingers roam across my chest, down my back, tugging at my jeans until he cups me through the fabric.
My knees almost give out.
Then he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. He doesn’t speak, he just waits.
I nod.
And then he’s unzipping my jeans, slipping his hand inside.
Skin against skin.
The way he touches me,
God. It’s perfect.
I groan, burying my face in the curve of his neck as I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, pressing kisses down to his collarbones. His skin is warm, smooth beneath my lips, and when I spot the edge of one of his tattoos curling around his ribs, I can’t resist tracing it with my tongue.
