“Sarah,” he murmurs, voice rough, like he’s barely hanging on. His hand clamps at my waist, the grip toeing the line between claiming and pleading.
I should stop. I should say we can’t. I should remember every reason we swore not to go here again. But then his gaze locks on mine, dark, hungry, threaded with something I can’t name, and every ounce of resolve burns out.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, his forehead resting against mine, breath hot and uneven.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I crash my mouth to his, feeding the heat already coiled between us. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against my lips, pulling a fresh ache low in my belly.
His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, palm firm, urging me in. I shift higher on the mattress, straddling him fully. His chest radiates heat into mine, every hard beat of his heartpounding against me. The world narrows to where our bodies fit together and the slow, deliberate drag of his mouth over mine until nothing else exists.
He pulls back just enough to search my face. “Are you sure? Do you want this?”
“Yes,” I whisper, the word sharp and sure, like a dare.
His mouth crashes back to mine, the kiss deeper, hungrier, like he’s taking what he’s wanted for far too long. My hands roam over the hard lines of his chest, up to his shoulders, gripping for balance. His fingers skim up my side, thumb grazing the edge of my bra. My breath stutters, and I feel the curve of his smile against my lips like he knows exactly how close I am to breaking.
I roll my hips without thinking, and the friction pulls a needy sound from my throat. He growls something low against my mouth, his hands guiding me into another slow grind. The pace is lazy, deliberate, wrecking me one press at a time.
“Look at me,” he says, quiet but rough.
I lift my gaze. His eyes are locked on me, dark, wild, and hot enough to scorch. His thumb drags across my bottom lip, slow, before he’s kissing me again, deeper, until I forget my own name.
He shifts, sliding his hand under the hem of my shirt. Heat surges through me at the feel of his bare skin against mine. His touch is unhurried, exploring, mapping every inch like he’s learning me from memory. When his fingertips find the base of my spine, I shiver hard enough for him to pause.
“Okay?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
The small, almost smug smile he gives me hits low in my stomach, and then he’s moving higher, fingers spread wide, holding me exactly where he wants me.
We fall into a rhythm, kisses that go from soft to starving and back again. Between breaths, I catch the faint hum of the world outside, the whisper of sheets shifting under us, the small sounds we don’t mean to make but can’t hold back.
I drag my mouth along his jaw to the spot under his ear that made him curse last time. He does it again now, his hand fisting in my shirt before smoothing over my back, like he’s fighting to keep control.
“Say it,” he murmurs, lips brushing mine. “Say you want me.”
“I want you.” It comes out breathless, a plea.
His eyes close for half a second, and when they open, there’s no restraint left. He kisses me like he’s been starving and I’m the only thing that will fix it. I match him, my hands roaming his shoulders, the tense line of his neck, the hard pulse hammering under my fingertips.
My shirt rides up, and his fingers slip beneath it again. I arch into him without thought, and he says my name, low and rough, like he’s claiming it.
We’re not thinking about tomorrow. We’re not thinking about the outcome. It’s just this, reckless, and inevitable.
The sound splinters the last of my restraint, and I’m on him before I can think twice. My hands are in his hair, his mouth crushing mine, all teeth and heat and the kind of hunger that’s been festering for years.
Jace’s hands clamp on my hips and drag me down against him, and the thick, hard length of him presses right where I need it. I gasp, and he swallows the sound, groaning like he’s been waiting for it.
“Fuck, Sarah…” His voice is ragged, reverent and filthy all at once. “Been dying to feel you like this again.”
I barely hear him over the pounding in my ears. My shirt’s bunched at my ribs, and then it’s gone, pulled over my head and tossed somewhere on the floor. His palms are on my bare skin instantly, sliding up my sides, his thumbs brushing the edge of my bra until I’m shivering.
“You’re shaking,” he mutters, like he can’t decide if it’s pride or warning. His mouth trails down my neck, nipping at my skin. “Can’t tell if it’s from wanting me… or knowing we shouldn’t.”
“Both,” I breathe, because lying is impossible right now.
