Page 25 of False Start, Real Passion

Not for one more night. Not when he’s all I can think about. Not when his words pulse in my veins, taunting, relentless.

I lie still, counting the moments until I forget why I’m holding on.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. More. My will breaks first.

I sit up, breathing like I’ve just run a marathon, nerves pounding. I want to scream, want to cry, want to do anything that will let this pressure escape my chest.

Anything but admit he’s right.

I fall back against the mattress, pretending it’s more comfortable than the truth. Pretending I’m okay. Pretending I didn’t let him get under my skin, under my guard, under everything I swore I’d never let anyone get under.

But it’s a shitty performance, even for me.

A sigh escapes, jagged and raw. I’m weak, I’m hopeless, I’m done. I wrap my arms around myself, squeeze my eyes shut, pretend I don’t feel his absence like a hole in my defenses.

And then—then the bed shifts.

He’s back.

Lying close. Too close.

Every inhale fills me with him, every exhale crushes the resolve I thought I had.

I want to tell him to leave. I want to mean it. I want to want to.

But I don’t say anything.

The silence stretches like the last of my excuses, thin and worn and about to snap. I lie there, tense and defiant, refusing to be the first to break.

His whisper fills the room. “This is torture. Lying here, inches from you, when all I want to do is touch you.”

My heart lurches, or maybe it’s the bed, or maybe it’s just me losing control of everything. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t trust myself.

He shifts closer, close enough that the words barely make it past his lips before they’re in my blood, sinking, sinking, leaving me gasping. “I want you.”

Three words, two seconds, one impossible choice.

It would be so easy to give in, to roll over and pull him to me, to lose myself in his kiss, his touch. But I can’t. Because once I do, there’s no going back. No more pretending this is just a game.

So I stay silent, still, even as his fingers ghost along my arm, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“I know you’re awake, Tori. I can practically hear you thinking.”

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, willing him to give up, to roll over and leave me be.

But Jaxon’s never been one to quit. His hand settles on my hip.

His breath is warm on my neck, his presence is insistent, his patience is my undoing. He waits, and waits, and waits, until the only thing louder than my pulse is the certainty I can’t fight him.

Not anymore.

At first, I try. I really do.

But it’s hopeless.

I turn to face him, letting my defenses crumble one shaky piece at a time. His eyes ask me all the things I’m not ready to answer, but the one I’m afraid to—the one I’ve been running from for far too long.

“Jaxon, we… we can’t.” My hand finds his chest, the solid, real heat of him pulling me in, pulling me under. My brain swims with excuses, but my heart silences every last one.

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