Page 88 of Breaking Point

My father's wishes?I want to ask, but I'm so confused, so torn, that I can hardly say anything.

I breathe, “I- We said one time. One time to get it out of our systems-“

His voice is low and gravely. “Fuckone time.” When he looks at me, I don’t know what to say- to do, to feel.

“I-“

“Do you guys need any help in here?” Theresa’s voice pulls us apart, and I look away.

“We’re okay! You guys head to bed.”

His parents wave goodnight, and as they climb the stairs, I try to ignore him.

It’s clear he doesn’t know what he wants.

I focus on the pile of dishes, but it’s hard when I can feel him watching me. I flip on the sink, filling the basin with soap as he grabs a towel and wordlessly dries the dishes as I wash.

It’s enough of a distraction that when we finish, I don’t feel quite as hot. I dry my hands and look to see indecisiveness still written all over his face.

“I’m gonna call it a night.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I freeze at that.

He’s sorry.

He’ssorry?

“You’re sorry you kissed me or you’re sorry you said you wouldn’t?”

When he doesn’t answer, I shake my head and head outside. I hate this game we’re playing. I’m tired of feeling conflicted.

At least I’m willing to admit it.

I’m almost to the guest house when I hear him:

“Olivia.”

“I’m mad at you,” I tell him, not stopping. He catches the door before it slams behind me.

“Olivia-“

“What??” I say, whirling to look at him.

“Be mad at me. Be furious at me. Yell if you have to, but never walk away.”

“What do you want?” I hate that my voice breaks as I say it. I hate that he still doesn’t answer.

I shake him off, taking the stairs. But he grabs my hand at the top, turning me. He takes a step closer- then another and another until my head is in his hands again. His lips are a breath away, but this time, I don’t stop myself from gripping his wrists, holding onto him like he’s a lifeline.

“I’m not sorry for kissing you,” he says, voice sure. “I’m sorry because my restraint is hanging by a thread. I’m sorry because you deserve a gentleman… But I just can’t help myself.”

I stand on my toes and bridge the gap between us. He's warm, his hands rough, and as soon as our lips meet, he tugs me closer. His tongue sweeps my mouth, and he groans, hips pinning me against the door.

This kiss isn’t like the first. It’s slow. Consuming. Intoxicating.

Forbidden.

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