I don’t have time to react before his hand curls around the back of my neck, fingers threading through my damp hair.
“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” His voice is low, rough, the kind of voice that leaves no room for argument. “You think I don’t know exactly what I want?”
My breath catches.
His other hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against him, his body heat searing through the soaked fabric of my dress.
“I’ve wanted you since the first night you walked into my life, Tink,” he murmurs, lips a breath from mine, “and I’m done pretending otherwise.”
The world tilts as he claims my mouth—no hesitation, no restraint.
It’s not a question. It’s an answer.
A declaration.
I grip his shirt, fisting the fabric, but he’s already a step ahead of me—his hands sliding over my hips, anchoring me to him like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, certain.
“You want messy?” His voice is pure command, pure control. “You want complicated? Then you better be ready, Tara. Because you’re mine.”
A shiver runs through me, but it’s not from the cold.
My pulse is hammering, my entire body thrumming with the weight of those words.
Alfie isn’t holding back anymore.
He’s claiming me.
Choosing me.
And I want him just as recklessly, just as irrevocably.
“I’m yours,” I whisper, and it’s the easiest truth I’ve ever said.
His grip tightens. “Damn right you are.”
And then?—
He kisses me again.
And this time, I know—there’s no turning back.
33
TARA
There’s one last person to face, to show I have matured this summer.
I find Troy at the gym, which isn’t surprising. My brother’s coping mechanisms are about as subtle as his overprotective streak. What is surprising is how long I stand in the doorway before saying anything. Before deciding that I’m finally doing this.
He’s lounging on the bench press, swiping through what is definitely a dating app.
“Please tell me that’s not Tinder,” I say from the doorway.
He doesn’t startle - Troy never startles - but his grin turns sheepish as he locks his phone. “Look who it is, campus’ latest delinquent. How many hours you got left?”
“Shut up.” I flop down beside him. “And we’re practically finished. We’ve got like 3 hours left. How was camp?”
