"Does it matter?"
I don't know anymore.
"We both know it doesn't." He closes the distance between us, pulling me in. "Because you came here anyway. You found me."
"I didn't?—"
"You did." His gaze drops to my mouth. "You're so desperate to feel something that your own mind built me a door."
His hand lifts to my face, fingers tracing along my jaw with a tenderness that makes my bones soft. I lean into the touch before I can think better of it.
He's right.
I'm starving for contact that doesn't come with conditions attached. For words that don't wound. For someone to look at me without pity or rage in their eyes.
"I don't know what I want," I whisper.
"Yes, you do." He's so close now. Close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. "You're just terrified to take it."
"I don't know how anymore."
His fingers twist into my hair, grip tightening until my scalp tingles.
"Then let me show you."
My heart is beating out of my chest. "You don't know me."
"I know you're disappearing." He tips my face up, eyes raking over me. "I know you used to be someone else. Someone who laughed. Someone who burned so bright people couldn't look away."
My throat tightens. "That woman is gone."
"No. She's still here."
He leans down, pressing his lips softly to my forehead. Then my temple. My jaw. His mouth drifts slowly, tracing a path down my throat, along my collarbone, and finally to my heart.
He pauses there, peering up at me. His breath ghosts across my skin, and I feel my nipple harden in response, heat flooding through me.
"She's just hiding," he murmurs against my skin. "Waiting to be found."
Then find me.
Rip me open. Pull me back to the surface.
I don't know how to breathe or respond or even move. I know I'm locked in a dream, but this feels so real it hurts.
He straightens, and I keep my eyes on his as he towers over me again. His lips barely brush mine—not a kiss, just a graze—but it's enough to make me lose my mind.
My lips part on instinct, chasing the contact, but he pulls back just far enough to make me ache.
"Tell me to stop. Tell me this is wrong, and I'll walk away."
I should push him back and remember where I am, who I belong to, what happens to women in this house who want things they're not allowed to have. What if?—
There is no what if. This isn't real. Just do it.
I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him down to me.
The kiss ignites something I thought had died years ago.
