"Especially then."
"Why didn't you?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my best effort to sound steady.
He looked at me, those stormy eyes searching mine. For what, I couldn't tell.
"What?" I pressed, my heart hammering louder now.
"Come on, Morrison," he drawled, a hint of frustration edging his tone. "You know why."
"I don't?—"
"Stop acting stupid," he cut in sharply.
"So now I'm stupid?" My cheeks burned with a mix of anger and embarrassment. This wasn't how I'd imagined our moment would go.
"No, I—" He stepped back, his jaw tightening. He looked like he wanted to punch something. "You know better than this. I'm old. You're young. You're good and... and pure and?—"
"Pure?" The word stung like an accusation.
"I don't mean?—"
"Then what are you saying?" I demanded, stepping closer despite the icy air between us.
"I'm no good for you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You can't really believe that," I argued. "Come on, Daryl. Don't do that. Don't… box this into something it's not."
He looked away, the muscle in his jaw ticking like a countdown clock.
"What do you want?" I asked softly.
"What?"
"You heard me," I insisted. "What do you want?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze flickered over my face, as if searching for an escape route that wasn't there.
"What do you want?" I repeated, my voice firmer this time.
Daryl's eyes met mine, dark and stormy. "I?—"
"Stop waiting for someone to tell you what you're allowed to want," I interrupted. "What do you?—"
Before I could finish, his lips crashed into mine with a hunger that took my breath away. He pushed me back against the cold brick wall of the building, his hands gripping my hips with a desperate urgency. The kiss was wild, consuming, like he'd been holding back an ocean of emotion and it finally burst free.
My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if that were possible. The world narrowed to the heat between us, the rough texture of his stubble against my skin, the way his body pressed against mine like he needed this to breathe.
His hands roamed up my sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He cupped my face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the raw intensity of his kiss. I could taste the lingering hint of coffee on his lips, feel the ragged edge of his breath mixing with mine.
Every thought evaporated, replaced by pure sensation. The feel of his hands anchoring me to him, the rhythm of our hearts pounding in sync. My own need mirrored in every fierce touch, every demanding kiss.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us gasping for air. His eyes searched mine, still stormy but softer now.
"Beth," he murmured again, and this time it wasn't a question or a plea—it was a promise.
I pressed my lips to his once more, slower this time but no less intense. His response was immediate, meeting my need with an urgency that sent shivers down my spine. Every kiss felt like it could be our last and our first all at once.
The cold brick behind me was a distant memory as he claimed every part of me with those kisses. His hands framed my face like he was memorizing it, his thumb tracing patterns along my jawline that sent electricity through me.
