“You’re the one who fucking started it,” I snap.
He surges forward—and I don’t know if he’s about to punch me or kiss me until his mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.
It’s all teeth and tongue and pent-up rage.
His lips bruise mine. His fingers dig into my hoodie as he backs me into the wall, crowding every inch of space between us. I kiss him back just as hard, biting at his lower lip, tasting him like I’ve been starved for it. Because Ihavebeen.
His hands slide down, grip my hips like he’s trying to anchor himself orbreakme in half. I groan against his mouth, fists curling over his bare shoulders, dragging him closer. He growls into the kiss, biting back just enough to make me gasp.
There’s no rhythm. No finesse. Just a desperate need. We devour each other like this is the only way to survive it.
Like if we stop, we’ll both come undone.
He pulls away, breathing hard, and I follow, wanting his lips on mine, but he shoves me. My back hits the wall again, and he fuses his mouth to mine as he licks into my mouth, and I let him—let him take whatever the fuck he wants—because this might be a mess, but it’sours.
It’s real. And for the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
His chest slams into mine, all heat and adrenaline and fury.
We’re still breathing hard from yelling, from shoving each other like we’re trying to knock loose all the shit wecan’t say. His bare skin brushes my shirt, and I feel everything—every inch of muscle, every tremble in his restraint.
And then I snap.
I grab his jaw and kiss him like I’m trying to make him hurt, trying to make him feel what I’ve been carrying for days. Weeks. Maybe longer. Taking full control of the moment.
It’s teeth and tongue and anger. A war disguised as a kiss.
Logan groans into my mouth, one hand fisting in the front of my hoodie, the other sliding up to circle my throat like he doesn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer. I kiss him harder. Desperate. Unforgiving.
He grinds his hips into mine like he doesn’t care that we’re in a stairwell, doesn’t care about anything except the way we fit. I let out a low sound—half-growl, half-moan—and he swallows it, his mouth devouring mine until I don’t know where I end and he begins.
I don’t know how long we’re like that.
Wrapped around each other. Lost.
But then a door creaks open a few floors down, the slam of it echoing up the stairwell like a gunshot.
We rip apart.
Breathing ragged. Faces flushed. Logan’s hair is a mess, lips kiss-bruised and parted as he stares at me as if he doesn’t know what the hell just happened.
I do.
Iwant him. I want to scream at him for freezing me out, for flirting with everyone but me, for pretending like none of this matters.
But he gets there first.
He shakes his head once, like he's trying to clear it. Like if he doesn't say it now, he'll fall apart.
“You should go,” he says.
It’s soft. Not cold. But it slices clean through me anyway. My heart clenches painfully, and I can feel the telltale pinpricks at the back of my eyes as though I’m seconds away from crying.
“Logan—”
“You should go, Todd,” he repeats, taking a step back, his chest still rising and falling like he’s barely holding it together. “Before one of us does something we can’t take back.”
