“How did you slip past them?”
Her smile curves, slow and smug. “I’m a roller derby omega. Not a house pet. I go where I want.”
That smile—God, it unravels something inside me. I’ve imagined her teasing, bratty, furious, sobbing—but this? This relaxed version of her, flirty and unguarded? It kills me.
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but then she cocks her head and says, “Don’t worry, they’ll realize I’m missing eventually.” Her gaze drops to my mouth for a half-second. “But you’ve got a little time, stalker boy.”
My breath catches.
She’s playing. And not the kind of manipulation she used to wield—this is something different. This is reckless, impulsive,real. She’s not just humoring me. She’s seeing what happens when she lets the leash slip.
I’m wrecked.
“I didn’t bring my camera,” I say quietly. “Didn’t think I’d need it.”
Her lashes lower. “You don’t.”
My pulse kicks, wild and erratic.
I could kiss her right now. I shouldn’t, but I could. I shift closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like I’m moving through a dream and don’t want to wake it.
She doesn’t pull away. She watches me.
Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her towel still clutched loosely around her. She smells of chlorine and citrus and, underneath it all, her scent, muted but still enough to drive me mad.
I lift my hand and brush a damp strand of hair away from her cheek. Her skin is warm, dewy. She leans into it.
God help me.
“I’ve thought about this,” I murmur. “Every day. Every night. What it would feel like if you let me touch you again.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn't have to.
I lower my mouth to hers. The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not cautious.
It’s everything I’ve been holding back. Everything I’ve buried. Every fractured piece of devotion and want and obsession poured into one reckless, aching moment.
And she kisses me back.
Hard.
Hungry.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling in the collar of my shirt as she pulls me closer. Her body presses into mine, damp towel and warm skin and all that fire coiled tight in her frame, pouring into me like gasoline.
She tastes sweet. Like defiance. Maybe she wants this asmuch as I do.
I could drown in her.
She’s mine.
She always has been.
And for one perfect second, I think she knows it too.
Then, a quiet presence is at our side. I feel it before I hear anything. The shift in energy. The slight change in the weight of the air.
Willow tenses just a beat before a low voice slides into the space between us.
