The kiss started slow, nothing more than curiosity. Then it deepened, turned raw and consuming. He kissed like a man starving for warmth after centuries of cold, and I kissed back like I might be the one to thaw him. His hands moved over me, memorizing my shape: my waist, my ribs, the arch of my spine. Instinctively, I reached for him, fingers sliding through his hair, pulling him closer, closer even as he lifted me. My body made the decision before my brain could interfere.
I wrapped my legs around him. The counter dug into my hips, but I didn’t care. He pressed against me, every line of him solid and deliberate. Each exhale from his mouth hit my skin like a spark. I wanted more—needed more.
His mouth parted from mine just long enough for him to look at me. The bond pulsed so sharply it almost hurt. His eyes—those impossible eyes—were darker now, dilated and unsteady. Something wild was there, something that scared me only because I wanted it too.
He kissed me again, rougher this time, and I thought maybe we’d crossed the point of no return.
And then—he stopped.
Just stopped.
He drew back as if someone had yanked him by the spine. His chest heaved, eyes darting over my face like he was memorizing it for later, for a time when he could let himself be reckless again. His pupils were still blown, his lips red from mine.
I could feel his restraint like static in the air. He looked wrecked and furious with himself all at once.
“Cristian?” I whispered, but he didn’t answer.
He set me down, then took one step back. Then another. The distance between us hurt more than his fangs ever could.
He looked at me like I was dangerous, like I was something he shouldn’t want.
Without a word, he turned and left the room.
I stood there, pulse racing, lips swollen, brain trying to reboot.
He’d kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive, then walked away like I was the thing that might kill him.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath. I wasn’t sure if it was my ego or my soul that was bruised. Either way, I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.
Instead, I reached for the ranch and finished my salad. I whispered a line from my notebook. “You can stay grounded even when the ground feels like it’s crumbling.” I set the sandwich down and made myself practice some coping mechanisms. I took five slow breaths. By the last one, my pulse had stopped racing.
I lay flat on my bed, arms spread, staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers.
My hair was a wreck. My lips still felt swollen. My brain kept playing back every single second of the kiss—his mouth moving against mine, the sound he made, that low noise that came from somewhere too deep to be civilized.
Before it ended. Just—ended.
“What the hell happened?” I whispered to the ceiling.
My brain, in its infinite cruelty, replayed it again. And again.
Why did he stop? Was it me? Was I too much? Not enough? Too eager? Not… vampire-y enough?
Maybe he preferred someone colder. Older. Someone who didn’t blush every time he looked at her like she was sunlight wrapped in bad decisions.
I grabbed a pillow and groaned into it until I ran out of air.
Maybe he was disgusted. Maybe I was some weird mortal experiment—an inconvenient side effect of his curse.
But then my brain betrayed me again, replaying the kiss. The way he’d saidtell me to stop,but looked like stopping might kill him.
“I gave him everything,” I muttered into the comforter. “Neck, lips, legs wrapped around his undead hips. What else did he want?”
My voice echoed in the empty room. I flipped over and yelled into the pillow. “I am a catch, damn it!”
That helped for about five seconds.
Then I grabbed my phone and texted Lena.
