Page 191 of Hard Pass

And that’s all it takes. He closes the distance, discarding his shirt as he goes. He cups my face and then his mouth finds mine in a kiss that’s nothing like we’ve ever shared before.

It’s not urgent or frantic . . . it’s searching. Like he’s trying to remember how to breathe. Like he’s trying to fix whatever seems to be broken in him.

I kiss him back the same way—slow, steady—letting him set the pace. Letting him take control or give it up, I don’t care which.

He presses his forehead to mine, breath ragged.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispers. “Tell me what you need.”

Tears well in my eyes at the broken desperation in his voice.

“Nothing but you.” I kiss him again, our tongues twining and bodies melding into one another’s. “Just you.”

We move together without thinking. His pants coming off slowly as we make our way to the bed. There’s no rush. It’s like we agree to stay in this moment until everything else falls away.

When he lowers me to the bed, he’s gentle. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, this will disappear too.

I brush my fingers along his jawline. “I’m right here,” I whisper.

His eyes meet mine for a second, like he needs to see me when he pushes into me.

I gasp at the sensation and fight the urge to close my eyes while I absorb the pleasure he brings me.

His lips meet mine again, his tongue matching the slow languorous thrusting of his hips.

There is nothing hurried. Nothing urgent. It’s just Cole. It’s just me. Just us moving together as one in the soft moonlight.

His forehead falls to mine as a ragged breath leaves him, and I feel how hard he’s holding himself back. He’s trying not to need this too much, trying not to need me too much and failing miserably.

His hand slides beneath my back to pull me closer.

His mouth keeps finding mine between breaths.

He looks at me as if I’m the only solid thing left in his world.

“Cole,” I whisper, my fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck.

There is so much in his eyes as he looks at me—exhaustion, relief, love. His expression softens like he’s stopped fighting whatever war has been raging in his head so he can simply feel this. Feel me.

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips, making my chest ache with love.

His eyes stay locked on mine as we move together slowly, reverently. This isn’t just about pleasure anymore. This is grounding. This is survival.

“I love you,” he repeats, rougher this time. And then again, over and over like he needs me to hear it. Like he needs himself to say it. Like after all the doubt and noise surrounding him, this is the one thing he knows is true.

I hold his face in my hands. “I’m here,” I whisper back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A broken sound falls from his lips and then his mouth crashes against mine as his body finally lets go.

There’s no distance between us when he falls apart. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to him.

There’s just warmth. Just labored breaths. Just his heart pounding wildly against mine while he buries his face in my neck. It’s as if that’s where he wants to hide from the world. A safe space where he can finally rest.

And as I hold him there in the wash of moonlight, I realize I’ve found that in him too. A safe space where vulnerability isn’t a weakness and words aren’t weapons.

We lie there for a while after. Tangled together with his leg draped over mine, and his fingers tracing idle patterns along my skin.

“You want to talk about it?” I ask.