Page 83 of Broken Blades

Claiming.

Not a show-kiss pressed to the corner of my lips for optics. Not a PR-kiss angled perfectly for photographers.

A real kiss.

The gasp that escaped me parted my lips wider, and he took advantage—sure, confident, like he'd been thinking about this exact moment and had simply been waiting for permission he never actually needed.

His hand cupped the back of my head. Fingers tangled in my hair. His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him until there was no space left between our bodies. Until I felt every hard plane of muscle beneath his coat. Until the world narrowed to just this—just him—just the pressure of his mouth moving against mine with devastating precision.

My fingers gripped his coat. Knuckles white. Holding on because my knees had turned liquid. Because my pulse thrummed so loud I couldn't hear the cameras anymore. Because everything inside me pulled toward him like gravity—like he'd become the only fixed point in a world that had tilted violently off its axis.

Heat pooled low in my belly. My chest pressed against his. My lips moved without conscious thought—tentative, uncertain, but responding despite every logical reason not to.

He tasted like mint. Like danger. Like something I shouldn't want but couldn't stop reaching for.

When he finally pulled away, I was breathless. Speechless. Destroyed in a single second.

The cold air hit my swollen lips. The noise of the crowd rushed back in—too loud, too much, too overwhelming. Flashes erupted around us like fireworks. Voices shouted questions I couldn't process.

But all I could focus on was him. His eyes—dark, intense, unreadable. His jaw—tight with something that looked almost like restraint. His chest rising and falling just slightly faster than normal.

Affected.

He was affected.

His voice came out low, rough, dangerous when he finally spoke. "Cameras are on us."

But his eyes said what his words didn't.

That wasn't for them.

I whispered, voice barely steady. "You didn't have to… kiss me like that."

His mouth curved into a slow, dark, hungry smirk that sent heat spiraling through my entire body. "Yes, sweetheart. I did."

The word sweetheart hit different this time. Not mocking. Not distant. Almost… possessive. Like he'd earned the right to call me that. Like the kiss had shifted something fundamental between us.

Before I could process what was happening to my heart—to my body—to every carefully constructed wall I'd built against him, he took my hand. Laced our fingers together. And walked me straight into the building.

My heart hammered against my ribs—wild, erratic, completely beyond my control.

The kiss was… I'd never been kissed like that before. Not by anyone. Not by the sweet college boyfriend who'd fumbled through nervous pecks. Not by the ex who'd taken what he wanted with bruising intensity that left me feeling invaded rather than desired. Not by the handful of forgettable dates who'd treated kissing like a checkbox on the path to something else.

This was different.

Wyatt had kissed me like he meant it. Like he'd been thinking about it. Like he had every right to claim my mouth in front of a hundred strangers and cameras and wouldn't apologize for a single second of it.

And God help me—I'd kissed him back.

The arena interior was warm. Too warm. Heat blasted from overhead vents, chasing away the winter chill but doing nothing for the flush burning across my skin. Music echoed off the high ceilings. Laughter bounced between concrete walls. The smell of hot chocolate and popcorn drifted from concession stands decorated with silver tinsel and blue ribbons.

Children raced past us in team jerseys. Parents chatted in clusters. Players in Santa hats posed for photos near a massive Christmas tree strung with Serpents ornaments.

Everything felt too bright. Too loud. Too much.

I couldn't stop replaying the kiss. The pressure of his mouth. The way his fingers had tangled in my hair. The sound I'd made—soft, surprised, wanting—that had gotten swallowed by his lips.

Wyatt's hand stayed locked with mine as we moved through the crowd. Warm. Steady. Possessive in a way that should have terrified me but somehow… didn't. He leaned close. His breath ghosted against my ear, sending shivers cascading down my spine. "Let's get something to drink."