Jace goes quiet. Studies my profile in the moonlight with something that might be concern. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its usual edge of humor.
“What can I do?”
The question hits me sideways. Notwhat’s wrongorare you sureor any of the things I expected. Just—what can I do to help.
Before I can think, before I can second-guess or analyze or talk myself out of it, I grab him by the back of the neck and kiss him.
Hard. Desperate. Like he’s air and I’ve been drowning.
He freezes completely—body going rigid, breath catching against my mouth. For a moment that stretches too long, he doesn’t move at all. Just sits there, lips pressed to mine, eyes wide open.
I pull back, immediately regretting it. “Shit. I’m sorry, I—”
But Jace is staring at me, green eyes huge and searching. I can practically see his thoughts racing—confusion, surprise, something that might be want if he’d let himself admit it.
“What the hell was that?” he whispers, but there’s no anger in it. Just wonder.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just… I needed it to stop.”
“The hunger?”
“The silence.”
He blinks, processing. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. I watch him swallow hard, watch something shift in his expression.
Then, slowly—so slowly I almost think I’m imagining it—he leans forward.
This time the kiss is soft. Hesitant. Like he’s testing the feel of it, the rightness of it. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, fingers trembling slightly.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I keep thinking about the pantry,” he says quietly. “About you and Gray. About how watching made me feel.”
“How did it make you feel?”
He looks away, color rising in his cheeks. “Like I wanted to be part of it. Which is crazy, because I’ve never—I don’t usually—”
“Hey.” I catch his chin gently, turn his face back to mine. “There’s no usually here. Just this.”
He searches my eyes for a long moment. “You’re not gonna hurt me, right?”
The question should sting. Instead, it steadies something inside me. Makes me focus on him instead of the ache.
“Never,” I say, and mean it completely. “We go as slow as you want. We stop whenever you want.”
He half-laughs, nervous but not pulling away. “I don’t think I know what I want.”
“That’s okay.” I shift slightly closer, careful not to crowd him. “We don’t have to figure it out right now.”
His breathing changes when I lean in to press a soft kiss to his neck. Nothing demanding, just a whisper of contact.
“Is this okay?” I murmur against his skin.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, it’s—fuck, Wes.”
I pull back to look at him, watching the way his pupils dilate in the moonlight. His lips are slightly parted, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression that makes my chest tight.
“You sure?” I ask quietly. “We can stop here. Just this.”
