Page 72 of Property of Scar

His gaze drops.

Not far, just enough.

My pulse spikes under his hand.

I could step back.

I don’t.

He leans in slowly, close enough that I feel it before it happens—the shift of air, the absence of distance, the moment stretching just long enough for me to stop it if I want to.

I don’t.

His lips crash to mine, full of purpose and passion. It hits harder than anything we’ve done tonight.

For a second, it stays controlled.

Then something in me gives.

Or maybe it’s him.

I’m not sure who moves first, only that the kiss shifts, deepens, the restraint between us thinning to something fragile and breakable. My grip tightens, pulling him closer, closing that last fraction of space as if it matters, like it’s been building to this all along.

He answers it.

Not gently.

There’s a rough edge to it, something that slips past control, his hand tightening at my wrist, then sliding, catching at my arm as if he needs something solid to hold onto. The kiss turns sharper, more insistent, the kind that doesn’t ask, just takes, and my breath breaks against it, a soft, involuntary sound.

Everything narrows.

The world drops away again, but this time it’s not the fight or the adrenaline.

It’s this.

Him.

The way he meets me without hesitation now, without distance, like something long contained has finally decided to step forward.

I lean into him without thinking.

Closer…

Too close.

My hand shifts at his side, instinctively seeking balance and presses right over his wound.

The reaction is immediate.

A sharp tightening under my hand. A hitch in him that shouldn’t exist, that doesn’t exist in anything else he does. His body tenses, just for a second, the faintest break in that absolute control…

But I feel it.

It snaps through me like a line pulled too tight.

And I pull back immediately.

Not far, but enough.