Page 78 of Second Sin

A breath trembles out of me. I try to hold the line.

But my voice betrays me.

“This thing between us,” I whisper, “it terrifies me.”

His eyes don’t waver. “I know.”

His hands lift, slow, reverent, and he closes the final inch of space between us.

Fingers on either side of my face. Rain-slicked, warm. Anchoring.

“I’m scared too,” he murmurs. “Fucking terrified.”

My breath shudders out. My hands come up to grip his wrists—not to stop him. Just to hold on.

Because part of me still wants to run.

But a bigger part—God, a louder part—is tired of running.

And maybe I don’t know how to survive this.

But I don’t want to keep surviving without him.

"I can’t think straight around you."

His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes—dark, unreadable.

“Then stop thinking."

His mouth finds mine like he’s done waiting, like he’s done pretending this doesn’t wreck him, too. His hands tighten at the sides of my face, grounding me, holding me still as the kiss deepens.

Rain slips between us. Cold. Sharp. But all I feel is heat—his breath, his mouth, the way he moves like he knows exactly how far I’ve unraveled.

My fingers fist the front of his shirt. Not to pull him closer.

Tostay upright.

Because the second his lips press harder, slower, I stop remembering what I came here to say. Stop remembering why I'm so afraid.

I let the kiss deepen—just enough to say:I’m in this. I’m choosing this.

When he pulls back, his hands still cradle my face. His eyes scan mine, searching.

“My place,” he says quietly. “Come back with me.”

I hesitate. Just for a second.

Not because I don’t want to.

But because wanting him this much still feels like a risk.

“Okay.”

His jaw tightens, not with tension, but emotion. Like that one word knocked the air out of him.

He presses his forehead to mine one more time, then kisses me again.

And I give in. Fully. Completely.

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