Page 95 of The Sweetest Revenge

"Let me finish," he cut me off. "I didn't tell Kacie about us because if she'd said no, I couldn't have you, I thought I might never forgive her. I hate myself for that, but I was as obsessed with you then as I am now. Even through all the hate, I still loved you." I sucked in a sharp breath. "I would have died before I let EJ or anyone else have you, and it had nothing to do with ruining your life. It was all selfish. I wanted you, and I wanted everyone to know you were mine."

"If this is your way of apologizing?—"

"It's my way of telling you that I'm in love with you, Ariella, and I know you are too. Even if you're still mad at me, you still love me."

The corner of my lips curled into a grin. "You seem pretty sure about that."

He shrugged. "I'm positive."

He was the only boy I'd ever loved, but I honestly didn't know how I felt now. "If you need time to come to the realization, I can wait."

My gaze held his as my chest rose and fell with deep breaths. His confession pushed away all the bad and reminded me of all the good; protecting me during the school shooting, his tenderness after the motorcycle accident, the fear in his eyes when he thought I was hurt, the way he'd carried me out of the party protecting me from whoever drugged me, the way he'd held me after we found out Kacie was gone in the middle of the hospital. He hadn't even cried; he'd been strong for me, only to be told she left because of me.

I pushed to my feet, moving as though drawn by an invisible thread between us. Standing toe to toe with him, I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his cologne clinging to his skin. My chest heaved against his.

Fear and desire tangled in my throat. Hurt battled against the magnetic pull between us. I could push him away, preserve my pride. I could forgive him, release us both from this limbo.

"Kiss me," I breathed.

His brows pulled together, uncertainty replacing the usual confidence in his eyes. He leaned closer, questioning.

"Kis—"

The word dissolved as Zaiden's lips crashed against mine. The gentleness from moments before vanished. His hand dove into my hair, fingers tangling at the nape of my neck, tugging and angling my mouth where he wanted it. The kiss was possession, apology, and demand all at once, a physical manifestation of everything unsaid between us.

Part of me wanted to resist, to show him I wasn't so easily won. But another part, the part that had never stopped loving him, even through the hatred, surrendered completely.

Spine stiffening, my fingers curled into his shirt, the material bunching between my fingers as I pulled him tighter to me, and he sucked my bottom lip between his teeth. A moan escaped my lips as he captured my mouth, swallowing every sound.

His tongue thrust beyond the seal of my lips and met mine, tangling together.

A flash of light bleached the room white—one second, two seconds. Then came the boom, a crack of thunder so close it rattled the windows. The lights flickered once, twice, then surrendered to darkness.

And for the first time since childhood, I wasn't afraid of the dark.

As crazy as it sounded, with his arms around me, the darkness felt like a cocoon rather than a threat. The man who had terrorized me had somehow become my sanctuary. When I was with him, I felt safe. The irony wasn't lost on me.

He pulled back from the kiss, both of us gasping as though we'd been underwater. In the darkness, I could only make out the silhouette of his face, but I felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest against mine.

"Are you okay?" he breathed, his words warm against my lips, concern evident even in whispers.

The rain intensified outside. The house creaked and settled around us. In this moment of darkness and storm, I made a decision I couldn't unmake.

"Take me to your bedroom," I whispered, my voice steadier than I felt.

His hands curled around my hips, holding me steady. "Does that mean you forgive me?"

"I thought you didn't care if I forgave you."

"No," his lips pressed to my neck below my ear, "what I said was I'm not apologizing for making you mine because I'm not sorry." His teeth grazed my throat as he kissed and licked from one side to the other. "You are mine, Ariella." His lips traced my jawline. "So you can tell me you hate me. Tell me how angry you are. Punch me in the face. Whatever makes you feel better, and when you're done, we can move on because you. Are. Mine."

"I don't hate you," my fingertips traced the curves of his abs through his shirt, "and I'm not angry. Anymore."

The lights flashed back on without warning. In the sudden brightness, we blinked at each other, momentarily disoriented. My gaze lifted slowly to meet his. The vulnerability I'd glimpsed in the darkness remained unmasked by the light.

"And I've already punched you in the face."

We both smiled, a strange, genuine moment of connection over shared violence. The absurdity wasn't lost on either of us.

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