Her eyes flicker, torn between defiance and something hungry. Something that betrays her. I know in that moment—I’ve got her. Whether she admits it tonight, tomorrow, or months from now, it doesn’t matter. Walls don’t hold forever. Not against a man willing to tear them down.
I press her back into the wall and loom over her—the wreckage of my control, the ruin of her composure.
Her chest rises and falls in ragged bursts, as if she’s fighting to hold herself together. Her lips part and I can almost hear the scream she can’t let out, the slap she can’t land.
“This isn’t real, Jacob. You’ve kept me trapped for so long, you’ve broken me down, and now my body is too confused to know the difference between hate and—” She stops, teeth sinking into her lip, as if the word itself will betray her.
I laugh. A low, rough sound that fills the room and makes her flinch. “Denial is a wonderful thing,” I say, leaning in until my breath brushes her ear. “You think I didn’t see your little crush on me back when we first met? Think I didn’t know you wanted me then? God, Summer, I should have put my loyalty to your father to one side and owned you there and then.”
She’s trembling, eyes wide, but there’s heat there too—undeniable, hungry, even as she tries to bury it under shame. That’s when it hits me: she’s fighting herself harder than she’s fighting me.
Her chest heaves against mine, every shaky breath pulling me deeper into the place she swears she doesn’t want me. I grab her wrist, dragging her arm higher, forcing her to stretch beneath me like an offering.
“You feel that?” I murmur, my voice a rasp against her skin. “That’s not fear, Summer. That’s need. That’s your body begging for the very thing your mouth is too scared to ask for.”
Her eyes flash, furious, desperate, confused all at once. She tries to turn her face away, but I catch her chin with my free hand, forcing her gaze back to mine. Her lips part like she’s about to deny it, but nothing comes out. Just the sound of her breath mixing with mine, too shallow, too fast.
“Say you don’t want me, and I’ll stop.” My tone drops. “Lie to me, sweetheart. I dare you.”
Silence. Her body arches toward mine before she can stop herself.
And then—like something inside her finally breaks—she surges forward and crashes her mouth against mine.
The kiss is messy and wild. Her free hand claws at my shirt, as if hating me and wanting me have become the same goddamn thing. For a heartbeat, I let her lead, let her pour all that confusion, all that fury, all that desperate hunger into me. Then I seize it, dragging her closer, devouring her like she’s the only thing I’ve been starving for.
And in that instant, there’s no monster, no escape. There’s only us.
I catch her other wrist and slam them back against the wall above her head. She gasps into my mouth, a soft sound that makes me grind my teeth, because Christ, she doesn’t even know what she’s giving me.
Her body is straining against me, and then she bucks her hips forward, hard enough to make me groan.
“Summer.” Half growl, half prayer. I break the kiss, dragging in air, staring down at her like she’s the only fight I’ve ever cared to win. “This is what you do to me. Every goddamn day. I want you so bad I can’t fucking see straight, and you stand there with your walls and your lies—shutting me out.”
She’s breathless, chest rising and falling fast beneath me. Her lips are swollen, eyes wide and hungry in a way she can’t hide.
“You think you’re the one tortured here?” I squeeze her wrists tighter, holding her there, refusing to let her touch me. “No, sweetheart. I’m the one who burns for you. Every minute. Every second.”
Her eyes lock on mine, glassy with want, a desperate kind of fire.She looks at me like she’s starving, like I’m the air she can’t breathe without.
Before I can think better of it, I scoop her up, crushing her against me. She clings instantly, crashing her mouth back to mine like she doesn’t care if I’m the danger she’s spent years running from. She needs me.
I carry her down the hall, her fists tangled in my shirt, straight into my bedroom. My hand pauses on the door handle, watching her closely. Waiting for panic. Waiting for the fight to come back. But it doesn’t. She only clutches tighter, whispering broken things I can’t make out, and I push the door open. Lay her down in my bed.
The sight of her against my sheets—small, shaking, but not running—is a brand to my chest. I slide in beside her, my shirt loose from the force of her tugging at it.
The second I’m next to her she grabs me—fingers curling around my jaw—and pulls my mouth down to hers. The kiss is different. Slower. It fuckingmeanssomething.
I break away just enough to rasp, “If this was some sort of test, you’re fucked, because there’s no stopping this. Tonight, you’re mine.”
Her eyes glimmer through the tears. “It’s not.”
Then she moves—grinding with purpose. Her leg slides up and hooks over my waist, dragging me closer, her body heat blazing into mine. My hand finds her thigh, rough against her soft skin, trailing upward. I wait for her to stiffen, to freeze. To shove me away. But she doesn’t.
She opens for me. Wide. Wanting. But I won’t fuck her. Not tonight. She thinks that’s what I want, that all this is about tearing her apart until she bends. She has no idea. Tonight, I’ll give her something else. Something I’ve denied her since the start.
I roll her onto her back, our mouths still locked, swallowing the ragged sounds she makes. She tastes like desperation, like surrender. My hand slips lower, dragging across her stomach, teasing her hips until she shivers beneath me.
Her chest rises against mine as my fingers slip past cotton, finding her warm, wet and completely ready. A small sound catchesin her throat—half gasp, half moan—and her eyes snap open, pupils blown wide. For a heartbeat, she freezes. Then, her body answers what her pride won't: her hips arch upward, seeking pressure, seeking more, the curve of her spine a confession against my palm.
