The confession lands like lightning between us, charging the air around us. We stand there in his living room, breathing the same air. Every heartbeat is like a countdown to something inevitable, something years in the making.
“Tell me to leave,” I challenge, my voice rough with need and fear. “Tell me to go, and I will.”
His breath catches, his pupils dilating slightly as he processes my words. The moment stretches between us like taffy, sweet and dangerous, and threatening to snap at any second.
“You’ve always done exactly what you wanted.”
The last thread of my control snaps. I surge forward, pressing Taylen against the wall as our lips meet in a kiss that feels likecoming home and starting a war at the same time. His mouth opens under mine immediately, hot and demanding, years of frustrated desire compressed into this one moment.
My hands find his waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his T-shirt as I pull him closer. His body fits against mine perfectly, all lean muscle and barely contained energy. One of his hands tangles in my hair, the other gripping my shoulder like he’s afraid I’ll disappear again.
The kiss deepens, turns desperate. I trace his bottom lip with my tongue, drawing a soft sound from him that goes straight to my core. He tastes like whiskey, mint, and forbidden desire, like everything I’ve been denying myself since that night in Burlington.
His fingers tighten in my hair as I press closer, eliminating any space between us. The wall supports his weight as I explore his mouth, relearning the textures and tastes I’ve dreamed about only in the safety of my own space. Each point of contact between us feels electric. His chest against mine, his thigh between my legs, his heartbeat pounding in time with my own.
Time loses meaning as we kiss, the world narrowing to the points where our bodies connect. My hands slip under his shirt, finding warm skin and taut muscle. He arches into the touch, making a sound that’s half growl, half whimper. The noise shoots through me like lightning, making me press harder against him, wanting to draw more sounds from his throat.
Years of wanting crash over us like a wave, turning the kiss into something wild and desperate. His teeth catch my bottom lip, the slight pain making me groan. My hands roam his sides, his back, learning the geography of his body while I still can. His fingers flex against my scalp, the sensation sending shivers down my spine.
His response is just as fierce, just as hungry. He kisses me like he’s trying to prove something, or maybe trying to breaksomething. His body moves against mine with perfect rhythm, creating friction that makes my head spin more than any whiskey ever could.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Our foreheads rest together as we gulp air. Taylen’s hands have moved to my chest, fingers curled in my shirt like he’s holding me in place. My own hands still span his back beneath his shirt, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing.
“Tell me this isn’t just the whiskey,” Taylen whispers against my lips, vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Tell me you’ll remember this in the morning.”
The words are sobering and remind me of all the reasons this is complicated, all the ways it could go wrong. But with his body pressed against mine, his taste still on my tongue, I can’t bring myself to care about anything else.
“I’ll remember,” I promise, my voice rough with emotion and desire. “God, Taylen, I’ll remember every second of this.”
“Then stay and prove it.”
His eyes burn into mine as he waits for the inevitable, and I hate that I'm about to prove him right.
"Not tonight, Taylen."
14
TAYLEN
“You’re an idiot,”I say aloud as I grip the steering wheel of my truck until my knuckles turn white.
The truck’s heater struggles against the November cold, creating a small bubble of warmth that doesn’t quite reach my feet. I flex my fingers on the wheel, trying to chase away the memory of how Bastian’s skin felt under my hands.
“Stupid. Monumentally stupid.” The words fog in the cold air, disappearing almost instantly like the rational thought process that abandoned me when Bastian showed up at my door last night.
Seven years of distance shattered by one kiss. One incredibly ill-advised, absolutely perfect, completely devastating kiss.
“Then stay and prove it,” I say, repeating my words from last night. They taste sour in my mouth now.
What did I expect? For him to drag me to my bedroom and make up for all the years we should have been together with multiple rounds?
I run my hand through my messy curls. Yes, that was exactly what I had hoped would happen when he kissed me like that. People who kiss like that don’t just walk away, right?
The proposed Christmas Festival site comes into view through gaps in the trees, and I force myself to tamp down my anger. I’ll face Bastian by maintaining a professional facade while pretending last night never happened. Part of me hopes he was drunk enough to forget, although it’s just my luck that he would keepthatparticular promise and remember every single second of that kiss.
Up ahead, vehicles cluster at the field’s edge like dark birds on a wire. My heart slams heard in my chest as I spot Bastian’s truck among them, flanked by an official-looking SUV that must belong to the town safety inspector and a white truck with the fire department’s logo on the door. Stone’s rental sits slightly apart, its pristine paint job already collecting a fine layer of mud splatter. Of course Bastian’s already here. He probably didn’t spend hours lying awake replaying every moment of last night, analyzing every touch, every sound, every breath shared between us.
My tires crunch over frozen grass as I approach the makeshift parking area. Through the windshield, I watch Bastian emerge from his truck, Gouta trotting at his heels like a loyal shadow. The sight sends fresh heat through my body.
