Page 39 of I’ll Find You

She looks away. “You don’t know that, Alex.”

“Hey.” I bring her eyes back to me. “I do.” She shakes her head slightly, but doesn’t argue. I reach for her without thinking, my hand resting at her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer. She doesn’t pull away. “You’re coming with me,” I say again, convincing, pleading. “That’s not something I’m second-guessing.” Her breath catches slightly, and I feel it, the way she leans into me without meaning to.

“I’m not either,” she admits.

The space between us disappears entirely, natural in a way that makes everything else that led up to this worth it. And for once, neither of us pulls back.

My hand settles against her jaw, my thumb tracing the slightest arc along her skin, not to guide her, but to reassure myself she's really here. That she's still choosing this, choosing us, even if this feels like less of a choice and more like a vow carved into our bones. As her breath mingles with mine, our souls exhale in recognition of what was always theirs. It's everything we are and everything we're becoming.

“You feel it, too,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them. It isn’t a question, but an acknowledgment that she feels everything, just as strongly as I do.

Her eyes find mine, and in them I see it. It’s that same pull, the same unspoken recognition, the same surrender to something neither of us can name.

“I don’t know what it is,” she admits, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. It’s threaded with something fragile, yet undeniable.

“Maybe I do,” I say, though I don’t explain it, because there are no words that could do it justice, no words to hold weight to something as pure as this.

Instead, I close the distance again, not with urgency, but with certainty. My mouth finds hers in a kiss that feels different from the ones before it. It’s deeper, intentional, as though this moment is no longer about discovery, but acknowledgment.

She meets me there without hesitation, as our mouths move together with an ease that feels instinctive, as though we've done this a thousand times before. She anchors herself to me, accepting this for what it is, even if she doesn’t fully understand it yet. The pull. And something within us gives way, an irreversible alignment unfolding between us, like two separate paths finally converging after unknowingly moving toward the same destination all along.

The rest of the world around us falls away, until it's just us, suspended inside this moment, everything reshaping itself around the gravity of what’s happening between us. My hand slides along her back, pulling her closer as I lift her easily against me. She goes willingly, her legs wrapping around my waist like she was always meant to fit there. I keep kissing her because I can’t seem to stop, because ending this feels impossible now that I’ve finally touched her like this.

I kick the door open behind us. It slams against the wall with a sharp crack as I carry her toward the bed, my legs hitting the edge of the mattress. When I pull back, it’s only enough to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide. Her lips are pink and swollen beneath my mouth, marked by every kiss I couldn’t hold back. And I see it there. The same thing unraveling inside me reflected back in her eyes.

“You're mine,” I whisper, the words leaving me with a certainty that feels older than either of us, as though they've waited lifetimes to be spoken aloud.

Understanding flashes across her face, stealing the breath from her lungs. There’s no protest, and no fear, only a deep acceptance of the truth she already feels. When she initiates the next move, leaning into me and closing the space between us again, I know. This is not the beginning. It’s the moment everything becomes irreversible. The moment whatever exists between us stops being something we can deny or walk away from and becomes something powerful enough to either save us or destroy us entirely.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Rose

There is a fragile moment suspended between us. I know with a certainty that leaves no room to retreat, this is it. It hangs there, the final thread of everything I’ve always relied on: control, distance, and careful detachment I built to keep myself from ever needing someone this way. And yet, I don’t reach for it. Because standing here, caught between his hands and his gaze, something softens inside me until certainty is all that’s left. It isn’t fear or hesitation. Just the undeniable realization that I don’t want to pull away. So I let go of caution. Of restraint. And for the first time in a very long time, I reach for something I’ve never allowed myself to want.

His touch isn’t demanding, it isn’t forcing, and that’s what makes it harder to resist. It leaves the power in my hands, when I’ve spent so long convincing myself I never really had a choice at all. When I choose, I rationalize, defaulting to the safer path. The one that keeps me safe. This isn’t something I can think my way through. I’m already moving, leaning into him, my body having already decided something my mind hasn’t caught up to yet. And maybe that’s the truth of it.

The armor I've worn for so long crumbles, the ice around my heart finally thawing until there's nothing left to hide behind. It leaves me exposed. Or worse, it becomes something I give freely. And that's the most dangerous part.

When he kisses me again, something inside me responds instantly, instinctively, inevitably, as though it has been waiting for this exact moment, the point where everything I’ve fought to keep separate finally comes undone.

My hands roam without thought, gripping his shirt first, before sliding higher, pulling it over his head, and tossing it aside without another thought. He drops me onto the bed, and I stare up at him as he looms above me. He isn’t intimidating. Not now. In this moment, he looks almost as exposed as I feel. His dark, piercing eyes hold mine, and my breathing evens out. I drag my lip between my teeth, my gaze dipping to the large bulge in his pants before returning to his. A silent question passes between us, wrapped in a shared understanding. His breathing turns uneven. Rougher now, syncing with the quickening rhythm of my heart, as it beats for him and only him.

My fingers move to the buttons of my blouse, undoing them one by one, slower than I feel, drawing the moment out even though something in me strains toward him. I don’t want anything between us. Not fabric. Not distance. Not restraint. A shiver slips through me at the thought of his mouth on mine, on my skin that burns hot, a fire set alight within that only he can extinguish. I need that. Him. More than anything in this moment. I want to mark him, to bury my face in his neck, and lick and bite until the copper taste of him explodes on my tongue.

The last button gives, and I shrug the fabric from my shoulders, letting it fall without breaking eye contact. My chest rises and falls faster, my body aching for something only he can give me. Without thinking, my legs part in instinctive surrender. He sees the way I’m no longer holding anything back. His gaze darkens as it drifts lower, watching it all, as if he is taking in every aspect of my body, every reaction. Heat pools low in my body, impossible to ignore and impossible to hide. The wild look in his eyes and the subtle flare of his nostrils tell me he knows.

He steps closer, his hands finding my feet, tugging my socks off one at a time and dropping them to the floor. My toes flex against him through the thin fabric of my leggings, and he exhales softly at the contact. His hands slide up my legs, guiding them higher, until they rest against him. I press into him without thinking, and his eyes close briefly. Then he looks down. His touch moves more slowly now, more deliberate, as his hands move over me with a kind of intense focus that makes my breath catch as he places a reverent kiss on the ball of my foot. He does one, then the other, grabbing one in each hand as he holds them there, suspended in that attention, taking his time, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The soft sounds of movement fill the quiet room, fabric rustling as the space between us disappears with every passing second. He pulls me firmly against him, holding me there, unyielding. He pops the button on his jeans and unzips them, the sound sharp, echoing in the quiet, dimly lit room. He shoves them down his backside, and my feet follow, pushing them lower, helping him strip them the rest of the way. I dig my heels into him, pulling him closer, pressing myself nearer, closer to the place I want to feel the most.

He holds my leg in place, but something in his expression soothes me, the space between us sizzles, charged with anticipation for words he hasn’t spoken yet. He isn’t distant or withdrawn. He’s deliberate, choosing his next words carefully, weighing them against something that matters more than anything we’ve said out loud. His hand doesn’t leave my legs, keeping them wrapped around his slim, sculpted waist. If anything, his grip tightens, needing this moment as much as I do.

“You think this is just—” he starts, then stops, exhaling slowly like the wrong words almost slipped out. His gaze lifts back to me, unwavering. “You think this is just attraction for me.”

I don’t answer. I haven’t found the words for what this is, and he hasn’t said what he wants it to be.