“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Of course,” he said, immediately—and then he sighed, long and quiet. “Just… whatever nerves I have where I can’t quite believe this is happening are kicking me hard.” His dark hair fell forward, shadowing his cheekbones, and when he finally glanced up, his pale eyes met mine for the briefest moment before flickering away.
I stayed where I was, didn’t crowd him, didn’t reach for him again. Instead, I picked up my drink and nodded toward the city beyond the windows. “So,” I said lightly, as if my heart wasn’t trying to punch its way out of my ribs. “What were you and Gabbi up to today?”
The change was almost immediate. His shoulders eased a fraction, his grip on the plate loosening. “Oh God,” he said, a breathy laugh slipping out. “We went with Jazz to take Rascal to the veterinarian, and it went from worse to worse.”
“That sounds… ominous.”
“It was supposed to be routine,” he said, already warming to it. “Nails, check-up, in and out. Except Rascal apparently decided today was the day he would reveal his true personality.”
I smiled. “Which is?”
“A demon,” Morgan said. “A very fluffy, very loud demon. He escaped the carrier in the waiting room, climbed the magazine rack, and knocked over a bowl of complimentary dog treats like he was staging a prison break. Gabbi thought it was hilarious, babbling, and Rascal latched onto her blanket and just—hung there.” He demonstrated with his fingers, eyes bright now.
I laughed, full and helpless, and the sound seemed to pull something loose in him. He smiled back, really smiled, and shifted out of the corner, turning toward me without realizing he’d done it. “Jazz said he’s never taking him anywhere ever again,” he added. “Rascal screamed the entire way home as if we’d betrayed him.”
“That poor cat,” I said. “Traumatized for life.”
The room felt different then—lighter, warmer. He leaned back against the sofa instead of curling away, his knee brushing mine, his breath finally steady.
I traced the lines of him—the way his Guardian Hall hoodie hung loose on his lean frame, the way his dark jeans clung just enough to hint at the shape of his thighs. He was always so careful, so contained, as if he were trying to disappear even when he was right in front of me. But tonight, he wasn’t disappearing. Tonight, he was here, and I wasn’t going to let him slip away again.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, my voice low, rough with something I’d been holding back for too long.
His body went still. Not just still—frozen, every muscle locking up. I didn’t wait for him to respond. I reached out, slow, deliberate, and tucked a stray strand of his dark hair behind hisear. His skin was warm, and the contact sent a jolt through me, sharp and electric.
His lips were pressed into a thin, controlled line, but I saw the way his breath hitched slightly. “Cole?—”
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” I cut in, because if I didn’t say it now, I never would. My fingers lingered at his jaw, my thumb brushing his cheek. He didn’t pull away, but his entire body radiated tension. “You have no idea how long.”
His gaze dropped to the space between us on the sofa. A flush crept up his neck, and I watched, fascinated, as it spread toward his ears.
I didn’t give him time to overthink it.
I tugged him closer, my hand resting on the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. He made a small, choked sound, but before he could protest, I kissed him. It was nothing like the kiss he’d initiated in the family room; his lips were closed at first, restrained, just like the rest of him, but I didn’t rush. I pressed mine against his, slow and deep, coaxing rather than demanding. His breath was warm against my lips, trembling. When I ran my tongue along the seam of his lips, he exhaled—then, at last, his mouth relaxed beneath mine.
His fingers curled into my shirt, and I groaned into the kiss, my free hand moving to his waist, his thigh pressed to mine. He was all angles and lean muscle, his body tense but not resisting, his breath coming faster now, his lips parting just enough to let my tongue slip inside.
I slid my hand under the fabric of his hoodie, and his skin was hot beneath my palm, his spine arching slightly as I deepened the kiss. He made a sound—low, needy, something he tried to swallow—but it only made me hungrier. I wanted to hear him like that again. I wanted to make him like that.
When we broke apart, his lips were swollen, his expression dazed, his hands still fisted in my shirt, his gaze locked on my mouth.
I didn’t give him the chance to second-guess anything.
My fingers found the hem of his hoodie, and I tugged it up, breaking the kiss just long enough to tug it over his head.
“Is this okay, Morgan?”
“Yes.” He lifted his arms, his dark hair falling back into his face as the fabric cleared his head. I tossed it aside, and he was left in just a black T-shirt, the fabric clinging to his lean torso, and I could see the outline of his ribs, the sharp cut of his hipbones, the muscle he was starting to lay back on.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I repeated, my voice rough, my hands already moving to his waist again, gripping the fabric of his T-shirt. “Can I look?” His breath hitched.
“Yes.”
I stopped. “Do you want to see me?”
Fire burned in his eyes, and he helped me out of my shirt, then ran his hands down my chest to my belt.
