Page 175 of Before Dawn

Then he kissed me. And God,God, did he kiss me.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate—it was slow, deep, devastating. Like he was trying to say everything without words. Like he needed me to feel it, to understand what I meant to him.

My fingers tangled in his curls, knees weak as his lips brushed mine again and again. When he pulled away, breath unsteady, his grip remained firm.

“And your outfit?” he whispered. “It’s hot.You’re gorgeous.”

A slow smile curled my lips. “Wait till you see what’s under it.”

His jaw tensed. “What’s under it?”

“Nothing,” I whispered, turning away to gather my hair into a bun.

A sharp inhale. A groan. A second of silence.

Then his hand was around my throat, firm but careful, tilting my head back until my lips were inches from his.

I gasped, fingers gripping his wrist. His eyes darkened, molten with heat.

“You say things like that,” he rasped, “and expect me to walk away?”

His thumb brushed over my pulse, feeling how erratic it had become, how much I wanted this.

Then he kissed me again—harder, deeper. Like he needed to. Like he was two seconds fromlosing control.

I whimpered against his lips, my fingers tightening around his wrist, and his hold flexed, just for a second, before he groaned and let me go, stepping back like it physically pained him.

“Let’s go before I forget where I’m supposed to be taking you.” His voice was rough, strained.

Smirking, I grabbed my bag.

By six, we were out the door, and by seven, we arrived at our date spot. Mikkel stepped away for a moment, stirring my curiosity.

When he returned, he opened my car door, his jaw still tight. “Come on.”

Intrigue buzzed through me as I followed him inside, then stopped short.

A pottery studio.

“I thought we could take a class tonight.”

My jaw dropped.

Romantic. Thoughtful. Perfect.

And this man? He was going to ruin me.

“You are incredible,” I gasped, touched by his thoughtfulness.

He nodded, his smile widening. “Number eight on your bucket list.”

A delighted laugh bubbled out of me as I threw my arms around him, overcome with gratitude and something even deeper—something I wasn’t quite ready to name.

The instructor greeted us with a warm smile, her apron speckled with colorful splotches of clay. “Welcome! I’m Sierra, and I’ll be guiding your lesson tonight.”

Mikkel and I exchanged excited glances as she led us to our designated pottery wheels. The studio was bathed in soft light, the steady hum of spinning wheels and the faint, earthy aroma of clay surrounding us.

“First things first,” Sierra began, her voice animated. “Let’s get our hands dirty! Grab a block of clay and start centering it on the wheel.”

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