The words land with a weight that knocks the air right out of me.
He takes a small step closer, his hand still light against my jaw. “Iwantyou.”
The room feels suddenly smaller. The distance between us is nothing, a heartbeat, a breath. I can feel the warmth of him, the faint brush of his thumb where it rests against my skin.
I don’t move. I can’t.
Because no one has ever said anything like that to me before—not like this, not like it means something.
For a second, I forget how to breathe. He’s so close that I can see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes.
Something shifts—quiet, certain, inevitable.
The world narrows to the space between us and the sound of my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
When he finally closes the distance, the moment feels both impossible and exactly right.
Everything inside me goes still, and then everything comes alive.
Chapter 16
Aaron
The space between usdisappears. For a second, neither of us moves, both waiting for the other to pull away.
Then I lean in and kiss her.
It isn’t planned or perfect. It’s soft and uncertain, and somehow more real because of it. The kind of moment that feels like breathing after holding your breath too long.
Her lips are warm against mine, and for a heartbeat everything in me goes quiet—the noise, the restraint, the endless voice that always tells me to be careful. It just stops.
I feel her hand tremble against me, and I want to pull her closer, to promise that she’s safe, that I’ll never push for more than she wants. But I keep still, because this isn’t about me. It’s about letting her know she can trust the space between us.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wide and bright, the kind of look that makes it hard to tell who’s more unsteady.
Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, then she closes them again. Whatever words she finds, she swallows them back.
I search her face, trying to read what’s going on behind her eyes—fear, confusion, maybe both.
“What is it?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head, barely moving. “Nothing. I just—”
I tilt my head. “Just what?”
Her gaze flicks to mine and away again. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s all right,” I tell her. “You don’t have to say anything.”
She hesitates again, fingers twisting around the hem of her pyjama top, like she’s fighting a thought she doesn’t want to voice.
“You can tell me,” I say quietly. “Whatever it is, I’d ratherknow.”
For a long moment she says nothing, just looks at me as though she’s trying to decide if she can trust what she sees.
Then she takes a breath, unsteady but determined. “I want more.”
It comes out so fast she seems startled by her own words. Her eyes widen, her face flushing, and before I can say anything she’s shaking her head.
