She pressed against me, and every nerve I had snapped to attention. There was no space left—only heat, only her, only the unbearable need that had been clawing at my ribs since the day I first saw her and knew I’d ruin her.
I slid one hand up her back and tangled my fingers in her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head. Her gasp broke the kiss—and that sound. Fuck.
It shot straight through me like lightning.
I kissed her again, harder this time, and she let me.
No resistance. No hesitation. Just surrender.
But it wasn’t weakness. It was trust. And that made it worse. Made it everything.
A book crashed to the floor behind us—loud, final. A warning. A line.
We didn’t stop.
Her hands kept moving, mapping the hard lines of my torso like she was memorizing me. Like she needed to know what I felt like under her palms, in her grip.
And fuck, I let her.
My grip on her waist tightened. I couldn’t help it. I needed to anchor myself in this reckless, perfect storm we’d created. She melted into me like she belonged there—like her body recognized mine.
And I knew.
I knew this wasn’t just heat. This was everything.
It was trust scraped raw. It was hunger with meaning. It was a goddamn claim carved in fire.
And for the first time, I didn’t want to control it.
I just wanted her.
I kissed her like she was the only thing keeping me alive.
Our mouths moved in sync, deeper, hungrier, with a rhythm that felt older than time—like we’d done this before in a thousand different lives and always ended up here, burning for each other.
But then I pulled back, just enough to trail my lips down her neck.
She shivered.
Fuck.
Her head tilted instinctively, exposing the pale column of her throat like a silent offering. The sight alone lit something feral in me—something wild and ancient that whispered, take.
I pressed my mouth against her skin, right where her pulse thundered beneath the surface. That beat—it was for me. I knew it. I felt it.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” I whispered, the words brushing her skin like a confession I didn’t mean to say out loud.
I kissed her slowly, reverently, mapping the curve of her neck like it was sacred scripture. Every gasp she gave me was a benediction. Every whimper—a thread unraveling the last of my restraint.
When I reached the spot just beneath her ear, I couldn’t resist.
I sucked gently. Marked her.
And when she whimpered—soft, breathy, wrecked—I swear the sound broke something inside me.
It wasn’t just arousal.
It was need.
