Page 66 of First Echo

The door burst open.

Madeline stood in the doorway, breathless, something wild and unreadable blazing in her eyes. Her hair was disheveled, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she'd been running, or maybe fighting some internal battle I couldn't see.

I took a step forward, guilt spilling out of me in a rush of words. "Madeline, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—"

She cut me off mid-sentence, already crossing the room with purposeful strides. "Just shut up and kiss me."

Before I could process her words, she'd reached me, her hands coming up to grasp my face, fingers threading into my hair as she pulled me toward her.

And kissed me.

This wasn't the hesitant, questioning kiss from before. This was decisive, desperate, a claiming. Her mouth moved against mine with purpose, with hunger, drawing a surprised gasp from my throat that she swallowed eagerly. My hands found her waist automatically, pulling her closer until there was no space left between us, until I could feel the hammering of her heart against my own.

The world tilted on its axis, everything I thought I knew about thebreathtakingMadelineGraceHayes, about myself, about us, reconfiguring into something new and terrifying and exhilarating. Nothing existed beyond this room, this moment, the feeling of her in my arms, the taste of her on my tongue, the soft sounds she made as I kissed her back with everything I had.

Madeline Hayes was kissing me. And I was kissing her back. And nothing would ever be the same again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

MADELINE

Just shut up and kiss me."

The words had barely left my lips before I was crossing the room, my body moving with a certainty my mind couldn't match. My hands found Brooke's face, fingers threading into her hair, pulling her toward me with an urgency that surprised even me.

And then I was kissing her. Not because I should. Because Ihadto.

The first press of my lips against hers sent electricity coursing through me, a jolt so intense I nearly pulled away from the shock of it. But Brooke's hands found my waist, steadying me, holding me close, and suddenly I was falling into the kiss, into her, into everything I'd been denying myself.

It was messy, desperate, hungry. Nothing like the hesitant kiss she'd initiated earlier. This was raw need, the culmination of every charged glance, every almost-touch, every moment of tension that had been building between us since that first night in this room. My lips parted against hers, inviting her deeper, and she responded immediately, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that drew a soft moan from my throat.

Brooke's hands tightened on my waist, fingers digging into my skin through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. The pressure of her touch was possessive, confident, sending shivers racing down my spine. Without breaking the kiss, her hands slid lower, gripping my thighs with unexpected strength.

In one fluid motion that stole my breath, she lifted me off the ground. My legs instinctively wrapped around her waist, ankles crossing at the small of her back to anchor myself against her. The sudden elevation made me gasp into her mouth, my arms tightening around her neck for support. The feeling of being weightless, of being held so effortlessly in her arms, sent a rush of heat flooding through me.

"Brooke," I breathed against her lips, surprised and aroused by this display of strength.

She didn't respond with words. Instead, she secured her grip beneath my thighs and carried me toward the bed, her steps sure and steady despite the darkness, despite the weight of me wrapped around her. Her muscles flexed beneath my touch, the definition I'd glimpsed that night she stood half-dressed now evident in the way she held me like I weighed nothing at all.

The few steps to the bed felt like an eternity and no time at all. Her lips never left mine, the kiss deepening as she walked, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that made me whimper. I could feel her heartbeat hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. My fingers tangled in her hair, tugging slightly, drawing a low groan from deep in her throat that vibrated through me.

When she reached the bed, she lowered me onto it with surprising gentleness, the contrast between her strength and her care making my heart stutter. She followed me down, her body hovering over mine, her weight settling partially on top of me as the mattress dipped beneath us. Her thigh slipped between mine, creating a delicious pressure that made me arch against her, seeking more contact, more of her.

For a brief moment, she pulled back, her eyes searching mine in the dim light. I could see questions there, hesitation—was this okay, did I want this, was she going too fast? I answeredby pulling her back down to me, reclaiming her lips, arching my body up to meet hers.

"Brooke," I whispered against her mouth, the first word either of us had spoken since this began. Her name felt different on my tongue now, weighted with desire, with need.

She responded by trailing kisses along my jawline, down the column of my throat, finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. I gasped as she nipped gently at the skin there, then soothed it with her tongue. My hands found their way under the hem of her shirt, fingers spreading across the warm skin of her back, tracing the ridges of her spine.

Brooke shivered at my touch, her breath hitching against my neck. She shifted, one of her thighs pressing between mine, creating a delicious pressure that made me whimper. I hadn't known I could make that sound, hadn't known I could want someone this badly, hadn't known desire could feel like drowning and flying all at once.

"Is this okay?" she murmured against my skin, her voice rough with want but edged with concern.

"Yes," I breathed, my fingers digging into her shoulders. "Don't stop."

She kissed me again, deeper this time, slower, like she was memorizing the taste of me. Her hand slipped beneath my shirt, palm flat against my stomach, fingers splayed wide. I felt the callouses on her fingertips—from snowboarding, from climbing, from a life lived with her whole body—and the contrast of rough against smooth sent shivers across my skin.

Her hand inched higher, hesitating just below my breast, waiting for permission. I arched into her touch in answer, and she cupped me gently, her thumb brushing across my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. The sensation tore another gasp from my throat, my body responding with a heat that pooled low in my abdomen.

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