I reach out and cup her jaw, forcing her face back toward mine.
Her breath catches, and her eyes flare. “Don’t.”
“Don’t cry,” I correct softly, thumb brushing the tear off her skin with a slow stroke. “Not for me.”
A small laugh escapes her, but her chin still trembles.
She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s trying to decide what to do.
Then she reaches up, and her fingers slide into my hair.
I go still. “Victoria,” I warn.
Her hand trembles in my hair. “I can’t—” she whispers, voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Hate you.” The words sound pained, and I feel the pang in my own chest. “I don’t—I don’t hate—”
“Stop.” My voice comes out harsh, and I regret the tone immediately when she flinches.
I lean in closer, lowering my voice, forcing control back into my bones. “Stop. You don’t have to speak. Just breathe.”
She leans forward, lips parting. I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, her lips find mine. She kisses me.
Slow.
A surrender.
And my mind blanks.
For one stunned second, I don’t move. I don’t respond. Hell, I don’t even breathe.
Because I’ve imagined this a thousand times.
But in every version, I’m the one taking.
But this isn’t me . . .
This is her.
All her.
Thank fuck.
My hands lift slowly, hovering near her face, until I gradually grab her behind the neck, deepening the kiss.
She trembles as our mouths collide. Her fingers tighten in my hair like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.
I hear her breathe, a shaky exhale against my mouth, and something in me breaks open.
Soon, the kiss grows hotter, less gentle.
I’m a starved man, desperate for her.
It feels like I’ve been held underwater for too long and can finally breathe.
She makes a soft and surprised sound, then after one more swipe of our tongues, she breaks the kiss.
