And then—
THIRTY-TWO
Advik
Zero survival instincts,indeed.
I’ve poked the panther one too many times. Her chest is heaving, her hands clenched, her eyes flitting wildly with too many emotions. Her hair has fallen forward, curtain-like, veiling a storm I might not survive.
I want to brush it back. But a very primal part of me thinks she might be carrying a knife. Or a gun somewhere.
“You—”
But then she stops. Doesn’t say anything.
For a second, I panic. She’s too quiet. Too still. What if I’ve pushed her too far? What if she’s spiraling again and I’ve undone all the progress she’s made these past weeks just for a fucking coffee run with Dev?
Fuck, fuck,fuck.
But then—
She steps forward. No...jumps.
I have half a mind to protect my throat again. Maybe even my balls.
But I freeze at the touch of her lips on mine.
What the fuck?
My brain short-circuits. For a second, I don’t move. Her mouth is hard, urgent—like she wants to erase—or maybecreatesomething. And for one horrifying moment, I think she might pull away just as quickly.
Now, I won’t lie. I’m an atheist. But in that moment I pray to every god I know toneverstop this beautiful, harsh reality.
One second. Two. And Isnap.
One arm locks tight around her waist, the other dives into her hair, gripping it like a lifeline. I cradle the back of her head and pull her impossibly closer.
She opens for me. A moan—low, wounded,wanton—rips through the space between us. Maybe hers. Maybe mine. Doesn’t matter. I’mfucking gone.
We collide. Tongue and teeth, breath and bruised emotions. She bites my lower lip hard enough to bleed. I groan into her mouth, stepping forward until her hips hit the kitchen counter behind her.
Fuckingfuck. I feel like I’m finally breathing after drowning for three years.
This is happening.God!This isactuallyhappening.
Greesha.My Greesha. She’s kissing me like she hates me. Like she missed me.
I’m under no illusion that this is probably a one-off. A result of the thousand conflicting emotions I saw swimming in her eyes earlier.
Her hands grip my hair, yanking just enough to make me hiss. Her braless chest presses into mine—skin, heat, emotion all bleeding together.
I force my hips to stay in place. Even though every cell in me aches to grind my hard cock against her. Claim her. But I don’t. Iwon’t. This isn’tthat.
Even with only 0.1% capacity of my brain function at the moment—Istillknow she won’t welcome that type of touch.
So I pour everythingelseinto the kiss. Love. Fear. Longing. Pain.Hope.
As if the last word was telepathically conveyed, she snaps. Breaking the contact. Pushing me away by the shoulder that’s almost healed. I stagger back—no longer caging her.
