Fierce.
Certain.
And something inside me had unlocked.
I was straddling him in the front seat of his Ferrari, knees awkwardly braced, one hand gripping his shirt like I might float away if I let go. The steering wheel pressed against his shoulder, the center console digging into my hip, and neither of us seemed remotely interested in the logistics of it.
We were still half-laughing when our foreheads bumped.
“God,” I breathed. “I cannot believe?—”
“I told you,” he cut in, smug and warm and entirely too pleased with himself.
I narrowed my eyes at him, even though I was smiling. “You are insufferable.”
“And right,” he said.
I rolled my eyes — and then he kissed me again.
It wasn’t careful or testing the waters. No, it was fueled by relief and adrenaline as something caged too long snapped free. He kissed with tongue and teeth, demand in every stroke and nip.
My hands slid up into his hair without asking permission. His fingers tightened at my waist like he was afraid I’d vanish if he didn’t keep me there. The kiss deepened almost instantly, like we both knew there was no more pretending now. No more internal brakes. No more mental gymnastics about what was allowed.
The cap was off the bottle.
And whatever I’d tried to deny—whatever I’d nearly buried under panic and logic and fear — came roaring back to life.
Archie was a great kisser.
Almost annoyingly so—but I refused to complain.
He kissed like he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how much I could take before my breath went shallow and my thoughts scattered. “See?” he murmured against my mouth, voice low, warm, just this side of dangerous. “Worth the wait.”
Heat spiraled down my spine. “You are so full of yourself,” I whispered back, even as I leaned in again.
“Only when I’m right,” he replied.
The way he said it—soft, amused, just a hint of something darker underneath—made my pulse stutter.
This wasn’t new.
But it felt new.
Because now I didn’t have to second-guess it. I didn’t have to hold part of myself back in case the ground disappeared.
His mouth moved from teasing to deliberate. Slower. Deeper. Not rushed. Not anymore. He wasn’t afraid of how much he wanted me anymore, and I wasn’t either.
My hands tightened in his shirt as I shifted slightly in his lap, the confined space amplifying everything—the heat, the closeness, the way the air inside the car felt suddenly too thin.
His thumb traced the curve of my waist, just once, and the quiet sound that left me was not dignified.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
A slow, satisfied exhale brushed against my lips. “You’re going to make this very hard to be patient about,” he murmured.
My face flamed.
