I spare a moment to squeeze her arm. “We’re almost done.”
She touches the gash in my arm. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine. It’s not even bleeding.”
The streets are worse now. Streetlights and power lines clutter the roadway, far more dangerous than before. Wind slides the vehicle all over the road, but we arrive at my house alive and unharmed. My neighborhood roads aren’t even flooded.
At the click of a button, the garage door shuts behind us, muting the violent winds outside.
And it’s over.
The steering wheel is a good object to clench, apparently. Don’t think I can remove my hands. They’re glued here forever, I guess, so I take a moment to simply sit in the silence.
This was both the smartest and most foolish thing I’ve ever done. I leapt into a hurricane andsurvived. I’m fucking Superman.
She’s alive and so am I.
My hands tremble when they finally release. Adrenaline and cortisol for the win. My gaze drifts to Jocelyn, but she’s already staring at me, expression dazed, almost awestruck. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak.
She just... stares.
Okay, then. She’s gone catatonic.
With my phone and keys secure in my pocket, I jog to her side and slide her trembling form from the truck. She clings to me like a child, arms and legs wrapped tight around me. I carry her through the laundry room and into the kitchen. Outside, wind whips debris and rain through the air, but the impact windows will protect us. With the elevation of my house, it’s unlikely—notimpossibleper se, but unlikely—that the floods will reach us.
“You’re safe,” I whisper as I set her on the closest piece of furniture—the kitchen table. Her legs remain clamped around me, but her arms loosen.
“You’re freezing.” I rub her shoulders. “Let me get you some dry clothes.”
But when I try to move away, her legs hold firm, locking me in place. Her skin is ashen, her eyes dilated. Wild. Ravaged. She stares at me like I’m a wonder. An impossible miracle she’s privileged to witness.
That’s not doing great things to my heart. Has it ever beat this loud? Can’t keep looking at her. Might kiss her or do something equally stupid. When I avert my gaze, she grabs my face and turns it back, forcing me to confront the storm head-on.
Five seconds pass. Ten volatile heartbeats.
Then her cold lips crush mine in a hungry, savage kiss.
Skrrrrrt. What?
What is happening? Is this some culmination of realizedfear and pent-up energy? Her fingernails dig into the skin of my neck, and her legs squeeze tighter around me, wringing water from her sweatpants that drips down my calves.
“Joss—” I say against her mouth, trying to pull away.
“Please don’t stop.” Her voice wobbles over the words. Hands sink into my wet hair. Her tongue brushes my lower lip.
Easy to give in, really. Probably too easy. She can erase her anxiety in my kiss if she wants. It’s bad for me, sure, but what’s one more kiss? I grip her neck and surrender. Just... sink deep into it. She tastes of ocean salt and the bare hint of some cherry lip gloss she must have applied hours ago. Every luxurious, inflammatory second poisons my willpower further. Or maybe the near-death experience has me forgetting about consequences. It’s sort of... intoxicating.
I should stop. This will only end in pain. But her hands slide down my bare chest, over the sopping elastic of my shorts, and I can’t find the will. Long, excruciating moments when I feared she might have died tortured me today. I might have lost her.
She’s here. Alive. Kissing me. Why overthink it?
But...
She isn’t in a good headspace right now. She’s overloaded and drunk on adrenaline. Keep going now, and we’ll both regret it. I turn my face away, but she only peppers kisses down my cheek and throat. Words weave between them.
“Thank you... God... Thank you... I want you.”
Don’t know what to do. Can’t keep going in good conscience. Can’t stop, either. Stuck in the in-between.
