The air tightens between us, quiet and charged, and I don’t move first.
I wait.
But the memory hits anyway, sharp and clear, like it’s been sitting just under the surface all day waiting for a moment like this.
Five years ago, same kind of quiet, same kind of pull, the way she looked at me like she was already halfway in even when she was trying to hold the line. The way I didn’t take it seriously enough.
The way she walked away when I didn’t give her a reason to stay.
I let out a slow breath, not breaking eye contact. “That night,” I say, low, steady, “I think about it more than I should.”
Her gaze flickers, just for a second.
“I didn’t get it back then,” I continue. “Didn’t get you. What you were asking for without saying it out loud.” I shift closer by afraction, still giving her room. “But I missed you anyway. From the second you walked away.”
The words sit between us, heavier than anything we’ve said so far, and I don’t take them back, don’t soften them, just let them be what they are.
When she steps closer, it's her call, and I meet her where she is, nothing more, nothing less. My hand settles at her waist, steady, giving her the chance to stop it.
She doesn't.
"Riley," I say, low, giving her one last out.
She answers by closing the rest of the distance. She grabs my face and kisses me.
The kiss starts slowly, careful, like we both know exactly what line we're crossing and choose it anyway.
I don't rush it, don't take more than she gives, just follow her lead until the tension that's been building all day finally gives us somewhere to put it.
Hadley stayed inside with Quinn, Izzy, and Hudson, so Riley and I would have time to talk.
The barn blurs, quiet and sure, and by the time we reach the living quarters, everything outside it fades out, leaving just us and the choice we're still making with every step.
Inside, there's a pause, one last moment where either of us could pull back.
Neither of us does.
She grabs my shirt and pulls me back into her mouth before we've even cleared the doorway. The kiss turns hungry fast, her fingers twisting in the fabric until she yanks it over my head and drops it.
Her hands move over my chest, my stomach, and I feel every place she touches like she's pressing through skin entirely.
I reach for her in return, slowly and deliberately, unbutton her shirt one button at a time while she works at my belt. When the shirt falls off her shoulders I pull back just far enough to look at her. She's flushed, chest rising and falling hard, watching me with dark eyes.
"Don't make me wait," she says.
I reach behind her and unclasp her bra, let it fall, and bring my hands up to cup her, thumbs brushing over her hard nipples until she makes a sound low in her throat that tightens everything in me.
I walk her back toward the bed, mouths finding each other again, and she pulls me down with her when she goes.
I work her jeans off and take my time with what's underneath, mouth at her throat, her collarbone, lower, learning every place that makes her hips shift or her breath stutter.
By the time my hand slides between her thighs she's already warm, wet, and wanting, and the sound she makes when I find the right rhythm is the kind that stays with a person.
"Jace." Barely a whisper.
"I've got you," I say against her skin, and I mean it.
I keep the pace slow on purpose, reading every signal she gives.
