Page 100 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Maybe that’s enough. Because he’s attractive, because of my pregnancy hormones, because we just stood on a beach together, and my trauma saw his, in the most deep, profound way, I don’t know.

Because he’s the only other person I’ve ever met who could hear about my childhood, and not think that it’s completely crazy. Because he’s been through worse, or at the very least the same.

Because we’re both products of a twisted upbringing, and for some reason that makes me feel emboldened. It makes me feel like I’m comfortable in my own skin for the first time. Rather than just a shape shifter, wearing skin that didn’t quite feel like my own. I don’t want to talk anymore, all of a sudden. I don’t want to work anymore. I just want to be. I just want to feel.

The promise of what could be between us, the thing that happened when our lips met, I want more of that.

I move to him, and I take the glass of Scotch out of his hand. “You can’t have any of that,” he says.

“Oh, I don’t drink even when I’m not pregnant. That stuff will kill you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with an occasional drink,” he says.

“Let me rephrase. With my DNA? Eventually that stuff could kill me. I just don’t want you to have a drink because I want you to have both hands free.”

I set the glass on the side table, and move around so that I’m standing in front of him. He’s sitting there, powerful legs held wide, his arms resting there on the sides of the chair, his shirt partly unbuttoned.

Oh yes. I know what I want. Damn common sense. Damn everything. I’m like a doomed rocket ship hurtling toward space. Maybe I have been all my life. Just waiting for the right meteor to crash into. I feel like he’s the one. After all, the stakes have never been higher; the game has never been more deadly. I’m pregnant with his baby, and our enemies are out there. I don’t especially want to die a virgin.

Or maybe that isn’t it at all. Maybe I just want to feel something. Something good. For once.

Maybe that’s all it is. A desire to live. To feel. One that I’m just feeling a little bit too late. But I’m actually at risk.

I wanted to succeed. But I’ve never wanted to feel.

Not like I do now.

I move toward him, and then I press my knee onto the chair, on one side of his thigh, maneuver myself up so that I’m straddling him. I wobble, and he growls, lifting his hand to press it to my lower back, to hold me steady. Keep me from falling.

“What game is this?”

“It’s not a game. There’s nothing. Let’s just…drop our weapons for a minute.” I lean in, my mouth a whisper from his. “Or maybe for more than a minute.”

He grabs the back of my head, pulls me in, and then he’s kissing me, deep and hot and hard, just like he did at the beach. His tongue slides against mine, the glorious, hot friction almost sending me over the edge.

I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I’ve never been kissed. Not until the beach. And now I’m ready to give him everything. To surrender it all.

I’m ready to risk myself. And I know that it’s a risk. Because I’m the kind of person who can’t just take one sip of something. I’m the type of person that can’t just try it once.

I’m at risk of being addicted forever, and as he kisses me, deeper and deeper, I’m falling, spiraling. I am tumbling headfirst into something I know could radically change me. Keep me captive like the basest heroin addict.

Too late. It’s too late. My decision is made. I can feel him, hard and heavy, pressing hard against where I’m growing wet and needy for him.

Hollow with the desire to be claimed by him.

I would’ve said that I was immune. The idea of being claimed always seemed overrated. Not to mention far too intense. I can bring myself to orgasm just fine; I don’t need a man.

But for the first time, I really want one.

And I’m going to make sure he’s well aware of exactly what I want. I grip the sides of his shirt, pop the buttons off and run my hands down his muscular chest. It was killing me to look at it earlier. Covered in all that elaborate ink, muscle and chest hair, just the sight making me feel hot and needy.

And now? Now that I have him under my hands?

I’m close to coming, just from touching him.

I bite my lip as I slide my hands down, brushing my thumb over his nipple, and my internal muscles clench tight. He growls, hand tightening on my hair as he pulls my head back, grabbing my face with his free hand, his blunt fingertips digging into my cheeks as he holds me steady so that he can kiss me again. So that he can force his tongue deep while he holds my face still, claiming.

I didn’t realize how much I would like the claiming.