His grip tightens at my waist, and for a second, I feel the edge of his control slip, just enough to make my pulse stutter. He nudges my chin up and kisses down my throat, slow and deliberate. My head tips back before I can stop it.
A car passes on the road behind the lot, headlights sweeping, and the reality ofpublicflashes through me.
I jerk slightly.
Jace stills immediately, lifting his head, eyes sharp. “What?”
I swallow, breath unsteady. “We can’t.”
His gaze searches mine. “Because of them?”
I hate that he’s right.
I hate that he knows me.
I push at his chest, not hard, but enough to make distance.
He lets me go immediately. Which somehow hurts.
I step back, hands shaking as I smooth my jacket like it matters.
Jace’s breathing is heavier now, his jaw tight, his eyes dark in a way that makes my stomach flip.
He takes a slow breath, like he’s pulling himself back behind the line.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
His eyes hold mine. “No, you’re not.”
My throat burns. “Stop.”
“I’m not pushing,” he says, voice rougher now. “I’m asking.”
I laugh once, and it comes out broken. “You always do that. You always make me feel like I’m on the edge of something I can’t survive.”
His expression shifts, like he’s about to speak.
But I don’t give him the chance.
The words finally break free, sharp and honest and ugly with how true they are.
“You devastate me,” I say, and my voice cracks on the last syllable. “You always have.”
Silence drops between us.
Not awkward.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Jace goes still like I hit him in the chest.
His eyes widen slightly, then narrow with something raw.
“Sarah…” he starts.
