I make a sound I don’t recognize, something soft and desperate.
Beau groans low in his throat like it hurts.
His mouth moves against mine—slow, deep, claiming—like he’s trying to learn me by taste. His thumb slides under my chin, tilting my face so he can kiss me better, deeper, until my knees go weak and I have to lean into him to stay upright.
“Beau,” I breathe against his mouth, dizzy.
He breaks the kiss only to drag his lips along my jaw, warm against chilled skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs again, but this time it sounds less like a choice and more like a prayer.
I clutch his jacket. “Don’t.”
His arms tighten around me.
One hand slips under my coat, spanning my lower back. His palm is hot even through the sweater dress, and when he presses me closer, I swear every nerve in my body wakes up and starts screaming.
I tip my head back slightly, breath catching.
Beau’s mouth finds the sensitive spot beneath my ear, and I shiver so hard it borders on a gasp.
He stills instantly.
His head lifts. His eyes lock onto mine, sharp and heated. “You okay?”
The fact that he checks—even now—makes something in my chest go soft.
“Yes,” I whisper. “More than okay.”
His gaze darkens like that answer hits him somewhere deep.
He leans in again, slower, and kisses me like he’s savoring—like he’s trying to give himself permission.
My fingers slide up his neck beneath his beanie, finding warm skin. Beau’s breath stutters, and his hands grip my waist like he’s anchoring himself.
I press closer, and Beau’s control cracks again—his kiss turning hungry, his body pressing me back until my shoulder blades brush the porch post, snowflakes drifting down around us like we’re trapped inside a romantic snow globe built specifically to ruin my life.
His hand slides up my side, under my coat, thumb stroking the curve of my waist. I gasp softly into his mouth.
Beau swears under his breath—rough, shaken.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me.
His eyes are wild. His voice is low. “If I take you home tonight…”
My breath catches. “Yes.”
Beau’s jaw tightens like he’s fighting himself. “Mila?—”
I reach up and kiss him again, shorter, firmer. “Yes.”
Beau closes his eyes like that one word hits him like a punch.
When he opens them, his gaze is all heat and decision.
“Okay,” he says, voice rough. “Okay.”
A sharp whistle cuts through the night.
