Page 70 of The Break Down

He doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t look away.

Just says, voice steady and sure, “That’s because it was.”

I blink.

“Is that okay?” he asks, and for once, Koa Jackson sounds unsure.

I smile.

Then press my lips to his chest. Right over his heart.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “It really is.”

His eyes search mine for a second longer, like he’s trying to make sure I feel it too.

That it wasn’t just the sex talking.

That I meant what I said.

I did.

Boy oh boy, I really did.

“Good.” His mouth curves, and it’s that rare, slow smile that hits me right in the chest. “No take backs, Red. You’re mine now.”

I swallow and nod, my voice soft. “I’m yours.”

And I hope with every fragile, fluttering piece of my heart that he means what I think he means.

That I’m not just his for the night.

That this is more than lust or proximity or tour bus adrenaline.

That this is something real.

“Get some rest,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and tenderness. “We’ve got to be back on the road soon. Coach’ll have my arse if I’m late for practice.”

Then he leans in and kisses me again—sweetly this time.

No teeth.

No tongue.

Just lips and warmth and quiet promise.

And it is every bit as delicious as when he’s being naughty.

I curl into his side, cheek resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart while his fingers resume their slow path up and down my spine.

Within minutes, my body gives in to the pull of exhaustion. We fall asleep tangled together, skin on skin, hearts open, walls down.

Next morning. On the road to Consequence.

The SUV is quiet again.

But this time, it’s not tense.

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