His finger twirled around the chain. “That. That’s the smooth-talking.”
I smiled, unable to help it. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything,” I said. “I’m just telling the truth.”
He turned more onto his side, his body fitting even closer. “Mhm,” he hummed, low and unconvinced.
My hand went to his neck, holding him there as his eyes traced my face—my nose, my jaw… my mouth. The interest in them made my stomach swoop.
“You don’t know how you take my breath away,” I whispered.
His blue eyes snapped back to mine, and something in me gave. Melted. Everything about him felt overwhelming in the best way. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Ethan’s lips parted. His gaze dipped, lashes shadowing his cheeks, and then his hand fisted in my shirt, pulling me in with quiet, desperate strength. I barely had time to register the heat of him before I was there—against his mouth, soft and warm and already opening for me.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. Not frantic either.
It was deep. Intentional. Like we were finally meeting in the middle.
Our lips moved together, slow at first, then hungrier—tongues sliding, pressing, relearning the shape of each other. I felt his breath hitch every time I kissed him harder, the quiet sounds he made sending a jolt straight through me. My hands came up without thinking, steadying him.Us.
Then we were kissing. Really kissing.
And I did it like I’d been holding back for months. For fucking years. Like my body finally remembered exactly where it belonged and refused to let go. Like if he didn’t keep opening for me—keep letting me feel him like this—I might actually shatter in his hands.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. I rested my forehead against his, our noses brushing, the space between us charged and fragile andalive. Our breaths mingled in the cold air, warm bursts against chilled skin. I leaned in again, ready to give him everything?—
And stopped at the firm press of his hand against my chest, holding me back.
“You’re like fucking human crack or something,” he muttered. “Fuck.”
“Darling—”
“No.” His voice was firm—so was the rest of him—as he pushed me back and stood, turning away. “We can’t be trusted with this, Sebastian. We’re alone. Unsupervised. We can’t.”
“Why not?”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, shoulders tight. “Because it’s complicated. You know that.”
Right.
Because it was time.
And I was done pretending it wasn’t.
“Darling,” I said, “would you look at me?”
“No.” His voice broke just enough to betray him. “Every time I look at you, everything gets fucked up.”
The movement was slow as I slid down onto the floor. My knees hit the cold stone, the chill biting through my skin. I didn’t reach for him. Didn’t touch him. I stayed where I was—spine straight, hands open at my sides, palms up.
No control. No armor. No defense.
Just me.
“Please.”
He turned. And froze.
His eyes dropped from the couch to the floor—to me—and went wide, like his mind couldn’t quite catch up to what he was seeing. Like the image didn’t make sense yet.
