I don’t think.
I move.
I grab her. Pull her in. Drag her into me, against me, into this fucking mess of who we are.
Her breath stutters, but I don’t stop.
I press my forehead to hers, my pulse roaring, my hands shaking as I grip her waist, holding on like she’s the only thing keeping me from coming undone.
My voice is raw, hoarse, wrecked.
“I’ve never stopped thinking about you.”
Lila lets out a sharp exhale, like the words hit her straight in the chest. Like they destroy her.
Her hands tighten on my shirt, her whole body tensed, conflicted, fucking unravelling.
“All these years, Lila.” I shake my head, my breath ragged, lips barely brushing hers. “I tried to forget. I tried to move on. I tried—” My throat locks up, but I force it out. “But I never stopped.”
A choked sound escapes her. A gasp. A sob. A plea. Her fingers fist my shirt, yanking me closer, and I groan into her mouth, my hands sliding into her hair, tilting her head back so I can devour her.
I feel her shudder. Feel her surrender.
Because this isn’t careful.
This is pent-up rage and years of regret.
This is everything we’ve never said, everything we’ve never let ourselves feel.
I back her up against the counter, her legs parting as I step between them, pressing against her, grounding myself in her.
She moans, soft and breathless, and fuck, it wrecks me.
I drag my lips from hers, pressing kisses down her jaw, her throat, the place where her pulse is hammering, just as frantic as mine.
Her hands slide into my hair, pulling, needing, holding. I know it now.
I feel it now.
Lila’s breath is ragged, her body pressed tight against mine, but neither of us pulls away.
There’s no hesitation.
No second-guessing.
Just need.
Raw. Overwhelming. Undeniable.
I grab her thighs, lifting her onto the counter, her legs wrapping around me like she’s meant to be there.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Her lips are swollen, her eyes, dark, hungry but more than that, wrecked.
Just like me.
I can’t stop.
I don’t even try.
