He stayed like that as our hearts continued to race in time… still inside me, still deep, still holding me like he’d die if I pulled away.
His chest was heaving against mine, his mouth dragging hot and wet over my jaw, my neck, my shoulder — like he couldn’t get enough of my skin, like he was starving for it.
And it hit me all at once — how badly I wanted him, how badly I’dalwayswant him, how stupid I’d been to think I couldkeep this locked away forever. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. My nails dug into his shoulders. My throat burned.
“I love you.”
It tore out of me like I’d been holding my breath for months and finally broke the surface. Not sweet. Not careful. Just raw and shaking and so full it almost hurt to say.
He went still for a second — one heartbeat, maybe two — and then he groaned. Low and wrecked. His head tipped forward until his forehead pressed to mine, eyes squeezed shut like the words had punched the air right out of him.
“Say it again,” he rasped, already moving. Already pushing deeper.
“I love you.”
That was it. The last thread of control in him snapped. His mouth crushed mine, all tongue and teeth and hunger, kissing me like he was trying to get the words down his throat and keep them there. His hands fisted in my hair, yanking me closer, his hips driving into me harder, faster, like he couldn’t stand the thought of not beingin mewhen I said it.
“Fuck, June—” His voice was ragged, breaking, like I’d just undone something in him that could never be put back together. “You don’t get to say that and expect me to be gentle.”
He pinned my wrists over my head, teeth scraping my bottom lip before he kissed me again — messy, desperate, tasting of sweat and salt and something I’m not sure I’ve ever felt from him before. “Who said I wanted gentle?” I whimpered against him.
Every thrust was a snarl in his throat, every drag of his mouth over my skin was desperate, uncoordinated, like his body was moving faster than his brain could keep up. “I love you,” he groaned into my neck, voice breaking, “fuck, love you so much?—”
And then it all slammed into me — white-hot, all-consuming, my back arching under him so hard I thought I might break. I heard him — low, guttural, almost pained — as he followed meover, his hips grinding into mine like he was trying to stay inside me forever.
He collapsed over me, panting, his face buried in my hair, and for a long time, neither of us moved. Just the sound of our breathing, the tremble in his arms, the feel of his heart pounding against my ribs.
He kissed my temple. My cheek. My mouth. Again and again, like he couldn’t stop. “Say it again,” he whispered, raw and hoarse.
“I love you, Ansel Barlowe.”
CHAPTER 59
For about thirty seconds, I let myself have it.
Her skin against mine, the warmth of her legs still locked around my hips, the soft little sound she made when I kissed her jaw. Thirty seconds where nothing in the world could touch us.
And then I had to move.
I didn’t even mean to — just shifted enough to pull out — and it wasgone. The heat. The way she felt like home wrapped around me. It was like ripping out a plug; everything that had been golden and grounding went cold in a blink, leaving me raw and stupidly hollow.
She sank back into the pillow, flushed and gorgeous, and as I looked at her, my stomach twisted, just a little. How did I deserve her? What god had smiled on me and blessed me withthis?
And then… The panic landed hard, twisting every soft and gentle thought into a horror.
It was midnight. Mymotherwas literally on the other side of a paper-thin wall. We had just —Christ— we had just, and wehadn’t even talked about any of it, no condom, no backup plan, what the hell was I thinking?
I was up before I knew it, pulling away but still trying to touch her everywhere at once, desperate to keepsomethingbetween us. “Okay, okay, don’t move,” I muttered, like that would make this less insane.
Her brows drew together. “Ansel?—?”
“Shhh, just — give me two seconds,” I whispered, scanning the room like I was expecting to find a responsible adult hiding in the corner. “I have to — I mean, you need—” My hand hovered over her hip, then pulled back like I’d burned myself. “God, I’m the biggest idiot alive.”
She sat up, the sheet slipping down, and I immediately averted my eyes because apparentlynowI had morals.
“You’re not—” she started, but I was already rummaging for something, anything, a shirt, a towel,a time machine.
“I didn’t—” I swallowed hard. “We didn’t even talk about this. You could — you might — and my mom’sright thereand, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” I stopped, picturing her in a doctor’s office in a couple of months.
