“We won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” I tell her, and I mean it. Because even though every part of me screaming for more of her, I’d rather have this, her sitting across from me, bathed in the moonlight, her hair catching the silver glow, her heart on her sleeve, than nothing at all.
She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine, weighing desire against caution, hope against fear. Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. It’s soft but heavy with truth. “That’s the problem.” She takes a breath, almost like the words are too big. “I want too much.”
The confession hangs between us, and Christ, I want to tell her that I’d give her everything. I want to give her the moon, the stars, my heart on a fucking platter if that’s what she needs.
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something so vulnerable in them, it hits me straight in the chest. She’s looking at me like she’s waiting for me to say the wrong thing and prove every doubt she’s been holding inside her all these years. I see it all in the flicker of her gaze—fear, hesitation, a deep-seated belief that whatever this is, it won’t last.
“It’s late,” she says softly.
But I’m not ready for her to leave.
“Stay.” The word slips out before I can stop it. I don’t think. I just feel.
Her eyes flicker to mine, searching and unsure. “Not like that,” I rush to add because I need her to know. I need her to understand. “Just…stay a little longer. We can talk. Or not talk. Whatever you want.”
She looks at me for a long beat, and I can see her weighing it all out. The risk. The reward. What it might cost her. I know she’s scared. I can see it in the way her shoulders tighten, the way her gaze flits from my eyes to my lips, then back up.
“Just for a little while,” she finally says.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. It’s a win, I know that, even though I’m not sure what I’ve won just yet.
“Just for a little while,” I repeat, echoing her words and leaning back in my chair. “I can handle that. I’ll even try not to be too charming.”
She laughs softly, but there’s something hesitant in it, like she’s afraid to let herself fully relax. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be so good at that.”
I grin, watching her for a moment. “Yeah, well, it’s not easy when you’re sitting across from someone so goddamn distracting.”
It sounds like a tease, maybe even a joke, but it’s not. She’s wrecking me. Completely. In ways I didn’t even know I could be wrecked because we’ve never ventured this far before.
She raises an eyebrow, but I catch the small smirk on her lips. “Is that so?”
I lean in, elbows on my knees, eyes locked on her mouth. “It’s absolutely so.”
My voice drops lower. “You’re a fucking temptation, Violet. You always have been. You could look at me a certain way and I’d forget my own name. Hell, I’d beg if you asked me to.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes, but there’s no missing the flush climbing her throat, blooming soft and pink across her cheeks. It’s adorable. Infuriating. Irresistible.
I can’tnottouch her.
I shift forward, brushing my fingers over her wrist. Just a whisper of contact, but her pulse jumps beneath my touch.
“Did you know, Violet…” I murmur. “That you taste like everything I’ve ever wanted?”
It’s true. I swear to god something inside me split wide open when our mouths brushed. She tastes like home. Like a memory. Like the hope I finally believe I’m allowed to want.
This woman has always been mine. Long before I had any right to claim her.
And now, sitting here, watching her cheeks blush and her eyes linger on my mouth… I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Not just her body—though, fuck, that’s part of it—but all of her. Her sharp tongue. Her stubbornness. Her laugh that always comes out just before she tries to hide it.
I want my fingers lost in her hair, my mouth teaching her that I’m not something she has to brace for. I want to kiss her until every doubt loosens its grip, until she understands how certain I am. I want to map my promise into her skin, linger long enough that she knows I’m not leaving, that there’s nowhere else I want to be.
God help me, if she asks—if she even breathes the question—I’ll give her everything I have, without hesitation. She’s the choice I’m making. Every time.
nineteen
. . .
Violet
