I smile—barely—and nod.
That’s all it takes.
His mouth crashes into mine, hot and sure, like he’s been holding back for months and finally lost the war. The kiss starts controlled—measured—but the sound I make undoes him. He groans, low and rough, and his tongue presses at the seam of my lips, asking.
I open for him.
He kisses me like he’s been starving. Like restraint has finally snapped clean. His tongue sweeps in, confident, devastating, and I meet him just as fiercely, tasting mint and rain and something unmistakablyHolden. Every sharp word he’s ever thrown at me, every carefully chosen sentence, every look he’s held back—it’s all there.
His grip tightens. My hands slide under his shirt, palms mapping heat and muscle and the frantic beat of his heart. He breaks the kiss just long enough to swear, breath ragged.
“Fuck, Coralie.”
Then I’m airborne.
He lifts me onto the slick boulder like I weigh nothing, steps in close, and nudges my knees apart with his thigh as he settles between them. His hands clamp onto my hips, anchoring me, and my arms loop around his neck, fingers digging into wet fabric and skin.
He kisses me again—deeper, harder—while thunder cracks overhead and lightning fractures the sky, the storm roaring like it’s cheering us on.
Every passing second pulls something loose in both of us—thread by thread, breath by breath. His hands roam my sides, slow one moment, urgent the next, gripping my hips like he’s barely controlling himself, pulling me closer even though there’s not a single inch left between us.
His mouth is ruinous. Controlled, practiced, and yet completely wrecked—like some carefully buried part of him has clawed its way to the surface.
And I’m not any better. My hands are in his hair, tugging, framing his face, trailing down the ridges of his neck, his back, his chest. He said I was his weakness, but I’m starting to think this goes both ways. Because right now, with his taste still lingering on my tongue and his body pressed entirely against mine, nothing else exists. Nothing could ever come close to the electricity ripping through my skin under Holden’s hands.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to breathe, and I chase his mouth without thinking—my body protesting even the tiniest distance. He chuckles, low and ragged, and brushes his lips against mine before nipping at my bottom lip, swollen and aching.
“Trouble,” he murmurs, breath warm and laced with something dangerous, “you’llbe the death of me.”
“I’m too young to go to jail,” I whisper, still dizzy from all of it.
He shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth—a real one. Then he’s kissing me again. Slower this time, like he can’t help himself. His lips trace my cheek next, my jaw, the soft hollow of my neck, and the sound that escapes me is nothing short of shameful.
But I don’t care.
My hands dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, tighter. Like if I hold him hard enough, he won’t ever pull away again.
Long minutes pass, until our breaths come in sharp, uneven pants, and the thunder begins to fade—each strike farther away than the last.
I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to give him space to rebuild the walls I’ve spent weeks chipping at. But I’m shivering now, both from the cold and from the aftershocks of adrenaline still dancing under my skin. He’s shaking too—not from the chill, but from the same unspent electricity that’s coursing through me.
“Holden?”
“Mmm?” He kisses me again, and I let him. Every time, like it might be the last.
“I know I said only for today, but…”
“No, Coralie?—”
“Just—listen. For once.” I pull back far enough to look him in the eyes. They’re hooded, unfocused, a little wild with everything we’ve just unraveled. “If when we go back, you don’t want to be with me, I’ll accept it. I’ll… switch TAs, or figure out away to put distance between us.”
The words feel like broken glass in my throat, but I push through. “I don’t want that. God, Idon’t. But if that’s what you want, I’ll respect it. Just… please—before I walk away, I deserve to know exactly why you’re holding back. Because none of it makes sense, and the not knowing is worse than anything else.”
He doesn’t speak right away. He just watches me, his jaw tight, his shoulders still heaving with breath. I see the moment he softens. When he lets it all drop.
His hands come to either side of my face, thumbs brushing gently over my wet cheeks. He leans in and kisses me once more—softer than before, slow and sure. Like he’s memorizing me.
“You do deserve that,” he whispers. “It’s complicated, Trouble. I’m not sure this is a good idea, still. But we can at least talk about the why.”
