“Don’t lie to me anymore, Arlo,” she hisses, raising her hand to hit me again.
My hand comes up, snagging fingers in her belt and drawing her to me.
She gasps, her eyes untamed and swirling with too many emotions to count.
Chest to chest.
Exchanging breaths.
“Never again,” I promise.
Her eyes lock with mine. “You should go.”
“Why?”
“Because…” she bites her bottom lip, gaze dropping to the ground, then back to my face. “Because I’m not worth the risk.”
“You don’t get to decide what I risk.”
“And you don’t get to decide for me.”
Silence.
Breathing.
My newly bandaged hand comes up, thumb brushing over her jaw.
She doesn’t move away.
My eyes search hers. “I almost told you before the fire.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But why?”
That’s when I claim her hard, unrepentant. My mouth covers hers, answering what words alone can’t communicate.
Angry. Passionate. Hungry.
She moans against my mouth, lips parting, and I’m on her, in her, with a frantic swipe of my tongue. Needing her more than I need air.
My hands grip her desperately, heart unfurling with heat. Stolen breaths between kisses. Never wanting to pull away.
Her hands ball into fists on my chest. Like she’ll punch me again. This time, I brace. Because the more I give myself to her, the more she can hurt me.
But the next moment, her fingers slide into my beard, locking onto my cheeks and pulling me closer. Into her. Until our teeth clang and our hearts throb.
Time stops.
When we finally pull apart, gasping for air, I rest my forehead on hers, breathing her in.
“You don’t get to leave me,” she breathes.
“I told you, Leonora,” I say, bringing a hand up to palm her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She stops, pupils blown, scrutinizing me.
Her hands flatten against my chest, not pushing me away. Testing.
“Prove it.”
