Page 77 of The Valentine Agenda

"I would have run up fifty flights," James said seriously. "I would have followed you anywhere. Even if you never spoke to me again. Even if—"

Hannah's fingers against his lips stopped his flood of words. "James?"

"Mm?"

"Stop talking."

Then she was kissing him, and James forgot about stairs and moving boxes and everything except Hannah's smile against his lips and the fact that she wasn't leaving.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Hannah

Hannah had spent so long believing love was something she had to earn. That if she was good enough, selfless enough, small enough, then maybe—maybe—she would be someone's first choice.

But standing here, with James looking at her like she was his whole world, she finally understood.

She already was.

The apartment was quiet, but her pulse thundered in her ears as James traced his fingers along her jaw, his touch reverent, almost hesitant.

“Do you want to slow down?” he murmured, voice rough, wrecked.

She didn’t want to.

She wanted this.

She wanted him.

So she reached for him first.

James made a sound—something caught between a sigh and a prayer—as she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his.

The kiss was slow, unhurried. A confirmation. A promise. He let her set the pace, let her lead, his hands staying gentle even as his whole body trembled with restraint.

She deepened it, threading her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. No more space. No more hesitation.

James groaned softly against her mouth, his hands pulled her against his body.

She pulled away just long enough to look at him, to take in the way his chest rose and fell like he was barely holding himself together.

"Are you sure?" he asked, because of course he did.

James, who used to only think of himself, now putting her first, always.

She smiled. Not polite, not practiced—real.

"I’m sure."

Something in him cracked. A tension that had been holding him together for months finally gave way, and James exhaled shakily, resting his forehead against hers.

There was no urgency to their undressing, no frantic hands or rushed movements. Just James seeing her. Tracing his fingers over her skin like he was memorizing every inch. Just Hannah, lying James down on her bed with her.

Hannah had never felt like this before. Feeling like she could let go, like someone else would hold the weight for once?

That was new.

James kissed along her collarbone, down the delicate line of her throat, his breath warm against her skin. He showed her with every touch, every lingering press of his lips, every whispered reassurance.

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