Just for a second.
So I cup his face, forcing him to look at me.
“Tell me I can have you?—”
“You can have me,” I tell him, “but no claiming,” I add gently. “Not tonight. Just be with me. No promises. No lies. Just us. Okay?”
Something flickers in his eyes.
Something intense.
Like he wants to argue.
But he doesn’t.
He nods.
“Okay,” he says, rough but steady. “I can’t refuse you. Can’t deny you, Cookie. So, tonight will be just this. But tomorrow, we’re gonna have a chat, Hadley. A long chat. Understand?”
I nod because I do understand.
Tomorrow, I will deal with reality.
But right now? I just want to feel something.
“I got you,” he growls, reading my mind.
And that means more than anything else.
Because he’s choosing me too.
Not just the mating instinct.
Not just that feverish pull.
He’s choosing me.
And I swear I feel my soul soar in response.
The rest happens in a way I can’t quite separate into moments.
It’s slow. And then suddenly it’s not.
Rob’s mouth comes down on mine, and this time there’s nothing careful about it. No hesitation.
Just heat and need and something that feels dangerously close to claiming if I let myself think about it too long.
So I don’t.
I grip his shirt instead, fingers curling into the fabric as I pull him closer, needing to feel him—solid and real and here.
He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me as his hands slide over my sides, my back, like he can’t decide where to touch first.
Then his shirt is gone.
One second it’s there.
The next, it’s on the floor.
