It’s desperate. Claiming. Full of everything he just confessed and everything he hasn’t figured out how to say yet. His lips move against mine like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep touching me.
I melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt, my heart pounding so hard it hurts.
For just this moment, there’s no year.
No rules.
No fear.
Just him.
And me.
And the undeniable truth that whatever this is between us—it’s already far too big to run from.
Every Inch of You
Langston
The taste of her is the only thing that makes sense.
The second my lips hit hers, the frantic, jagged static in my brain finally goes quiet. I remember exactly how I felt because a single phone call suggested she might be gone. Now, she is here. Beneath my hands. Breathing my air.
I am a man who thrives on order. I don't break, and I certainly don't crawl. But this woman—with her fire-bright hair and eyes that see right through my armor—has turned me into a man I don't recognize. I hate it. I hate that she has the power to make me crawl.
And yet, as her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, I know I’d crawl through glass just to stay in this room.
The kiss isn't enough. It’s a starving man trying to survive on a single drop of water.
I break away just enough to look at her, my thumbs digging into her jawline. Her eyes are blown wide, dark with the same desperate hunger that’s clawing at my chest. She looks fragile, yes, but there’s a fire in her that matches mine.
"You’re mine," I growl against her lips, the words more a vow than a statement. "Do you understand? No more pulling away. No more pretending."
I don't wait for an answer. I don't need one. I can feel the answer in the way her heart hammers against my chest.
I stand, my hands sliding from her face to her shoulders, then down her arms, gripping her wrists. I’m not being gentle anymore.
I push her back onto the bed, my body a heavy, protective shadow over hers. The contrast is sharp—her vibrant red hair fanned out against the dark pillows, her skin flushed and warm. I look down at her, and the need to claim every inch of her—to leave a mark so deep she can never doubt where she belongs—surges through me.
"I have been trying to be the man who gives you space," I whisper, my voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly edge as I pin her wrists above her head. I want her still. I want her entirely centered on me. "The man who plays by the rules of this arrangement."
I lean down, my nose brushing the sensitive skin of her neck, inhaling the scent that has haunted my dreams for weeks.
"But I’m done with that," I murmur against her skin. "Tonight, there is no arrangement. There is only me taking what is mine.”
I move with deliberate, agonizing slowness. I want her to see my hands. I want her to know that even when I’m losing my mindfor her, I am the one in charge of this moment. I am the one who decides how this ends.
"Look at me, Sabrina," I command.
When her eyes meet mine, they are a vivid, electric green, filled with an absolute, terrifying want. It’s the final crack in my composure.
I dive back in, my mouth finding hers again in a collision of teeth and heat.
There is only the heat of her skin and the way she arches into me, finally meeting the demand I’m placing on her.
I tear my mouth from hers, needing to see the havoc I’m wreaking. Her lips are swollen, her chest heaving, and those green eyes are hazy with a look that unravels my last shred of restraint.
"Tell me you want this," I demand, my voice raw. I need to hear it. I need her to verbalize the surrender I feel in her body.
