Her jaw tightens, but her chest rises faster.Her eyes flick down my frame—so quick I almost miss it—but it’s there.Hunger.Memory.Maybe even want.
And if I get one more second in this room with her, I’ll make her say it.
I’ll make her feel it.
Because even if she’s pretending otherwise, I know Kit Dempsey.
And I know she still wants me.
Kit’s face softens—barely.
“When was the last time you craved?”she asks.
“What?”I blink a couple of times because that’s not what I expected her to say—or ask.
“The last time you craved?”she repeats.
“I.Am.Clean.”
“Sure, you haven’t touched anything, but that’s not what I asked, is it?”She crosses her arms, leaning against the chair.“Did you wake up hoping you could get a sip of tequila before your coffee?Wonder if anyone would notice if you took the edge off before you had to smile and pretend you’re okay?”
I go quiet.
Because fuck me, she’s right.She still knows me.Even now.Even when she wants to hate me.Maybe especially then.
The truth is that every second I’m awake and alone and spiraling in my head I crave.More so when everything starts slipping through my fingers.
But the craving shifted the second I saw her.
Now it’s her I want to sink into.Drown in.Lose myself in.I crave the burn of her mouth on mine, her fingers pulling at my clothes like we’re going to tear each other apart again.I crave the way she used to whisper my name when no one was around and scream it when she didn’t care who heard.
“I crave all the time,” I say, and it comes out rough.Like confession and accusation in one breath.“When I’m alone.When I spiral.When the silence turns into static and my brain starts cataloging all the ways I’ve fucked up my life.I crave something—anything—that’ll make it stop.That’ll make me stop wanting you.”
Her lips part.Just a little.Her arms unfold.
“Right now?”I step forward, slow, measured.“Right now, I crave the feeling of your nails on my back.Your legs around my waist.The sound you make when I bite your neck and you hate that you love it.”
Kit’s breath hitches.Her throat works as she swallows, eyes locked on mine like she doesn’t trust herself to look away.Her pupils are blown wide, lips slightly parted, like she’s replaying every moment we used to come undone together.And, fuck, I want to remind her—inch by fucking inch.
I move closer.Close enough that I can smell the hint of flowers in her perfume and something warmer beneath it—skin and memory.The air between us turns molten.
“You want the truth?”I murmur, voice low, raw.“The moment I saw you, I wanted to fuck you and forget everything.Then I wanted to remember exactly how we used to be.I wanted to feel you—wild, loud, aching—and know you still wanted it just as much.”
She doesn’t move, but her breathing changes.Faster.Shallow.
“I’m not asking you to fix me,” I say.“I’m telling you, Kit—I want you.I crave you.You.”
Silence stretches.Her gaze drops to my mouth.She licks her bottom lip like she’s trying to wipe away the thought before it wins.But it’s already too late.
The craving’s mutual.And it’s not just about addiction.
It’s her.
It’s always been her.
And I can’t answer.
I just ...blink.
