Her hand moves from my hair to my face, her fingers tracing the line of my brow, the curve of my cheekbone. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, her eyes opening to meet mine.
I smile, a small, sad thing. “I did.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you feeling better?” I ask, my thumb stroking over her hip.
She lets out a laugh that takes me by surprise. “Not really,” she admits, a wry smile playing on her lips. “You smell of sweat and snow and pine, and all I can think about is pulling you on top of me.”
My breath hitches. I take her hand, bring it to my lips, and press a kiss to her palm. Her skin is soft, her scent clinging to it.
“Maddox,” she whispers, my name a prayer on her lips.
“Please don’t ask that of me,” I beg, my voice rough with need. “Please.”
She swallows, her gaze dropping to my mouth. “I would never make you do what you don’t want.”
I kiss her wrist, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse against my lips. “You know that’s not true.”
She shakes her head, her eyes filled with a confusion that mirrors my own. “I don’t know anything.”
And that’s when it happens. The words I’ve held back for years, the truth I’ve buried under layers of friendship and loyalty, finally break free. “I’m in love with you.”
She gasps, her body tensing beneath me. She sits up, dislodging me, her eyes wide with shock. “What?”
I sit up, facing her, the space between us suddenly vast and charged with unspoken things. I want to remember how she looks right now—naked, gorgeous, her hair a mess, her face flushed with pleasure and surprise. But she’s talking, her words a frantic, jumbled rush.
“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice trembling.
“I’m in love with you,” I repeat, the words feeling both terrifying and right. “I have been in love with you for so long, and I have been trying not to be a douche bag about any of it, but if you can give a stranger like Knox a chance, what’s the harm in me telling you the truth?”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know that.” My heart is aching with the sincerity of it. “And that’s why I’m begging you not to ask me to fuck you. Because I will. And I can live with anything except your regret in this.”
“Shit,” she says, the word a soft, breathy exhale.
“Yeah,” I agree, my own voice rough with emotion.
I climb out of the bed, my movements stiff, awkward. I rearrange my cock, the pressure a painful reminder of what I’m giving up. “The water is all set,” I say, my back to her. “So I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Don’t leave, Maddox,” she says, her voice small, vulnerable.
“I can’t stay,” I tell her, my resolve crumbling.
“You can,” she insists. “I want you to stay.”
I shake my head, unable to turn around, unable to look at her. “You’re just in heat. That’s why you think you want me here.”
“No,” she says, her voice firm. “No. The meds I took are helping. I’m horny, but I’m not in heat. Not yet. But I will be soon... and I want you here. I want Liam here. I care about both of you. I want my best friends here.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I say, my voice tight with strain.
She crawls to the edge of the bed, to me. She presses a soft kiss to my jaw, then to my lips. “I know what I’m saying,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin. “I’m tired of fighting this. And when Liam comes back, I will tell him the truth about Knox. But I’m done lying and hiding.”
“Millie,” I warn. I can’t believe this is happening.
“Maddox,” she says, and I don’t realize I’m crying until she kisses me again, her lips soft and gentle against mine. “Did I hurt you?” she asks, her fingers tracing the line of my ribs, a phantom touch against old bruises.
