Page 21 of Wicked God
Alex grins. “That sounds like you.”
The sand is chilly beneath the blanket, but I can’t bring myself to care. I study his profile in the starlight—the heavy brow and sharp cut of his cheekbone softened by something tender, something only I get to see when we’re alone. I reach over and brush a stray curl from his forehead. “Do you?”
He doesn’t answer with words, just dips his head so our foreheads touch. His hair is damp and smells like shampoo. The only sound is the gentle lapping of waves. I hear his slow, even breathing and feel the thump of his heart through his tee. His hands are impossibly warm; his lips, when they find mine, taste faintly of wine and salt. The kiss is not urgent like last night, but slow, careful.
I know I’ll dream of this kiss long after tonight.
Chapter 10
Olivia
The drive back to the city on Sunday morning is eerily quiet. Alex’s car devours the miles, and the beautiful coastal views slowly give way to endless suburbs. Each mile marker reminds me that my brief taste of freedom is almost over. Seagulls vanish, replaced by steel-and-glass towers.
Alex pulls up in front of my apartment building—a hulking block of brick and glass that’s always felt impersonal, but now looks downright hostile. He turns off the engine. Neither of us moves.
“Home sweet home,” I say, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. His fingers drum restlessly on the steering wheel, the only sign he’s as reluctant as I am to let this end.
The silence between us is thick. Loaded.
“Hey,” I breathe out, breaking the silence.
“Hey,” he echoes back, his voice gritty like sand under our feet as we walked along the beach this morning.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, swallowing hard. “I guess this is—”
He doesn’t let me finish. In one swift movement, Alex closes the space between us, his mouth finding mine. The kiss is fierce and tender, all at once. Salt and sunlight. I memorize the slight roughness of his lower lip, the way he angles his head just so.
It’s heaven.
It’s hell.
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I can’t have.
My hands tangle in the back of his hair, desperate to hold on to this moment, to him. The world outside the car disappears. There’s only the heat of his body and the way his kiss makes me forget every reason why this is a terrible idea.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the confined space. His eyes are closed, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. I can feel the rapid beat of his heart where my hand still grips his shirt.
“Olivia,” he says, voice raw.
I don’t know what to say. Words feel inadequate, clumsy. I want to say: Please don’t leave, but that’s childish and selfish and absolutely not what I’m supposed to want. I want to say: Stay. Stay and climb my stairs, and I’ll hide you in my ugly apartment, and we’ll make fancy coffee and ignore the outside world forever. Instead, I just say, “Thank you for the weekend.”
He gives a broken little huff, and when his thumb brushes against my cheekbone, I realize I’m trembling.
“I don’t want this to end,” I admit.
“It doesn’t have to.”
“I know.” I etch every detail of him into the corners of my mind: the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the feeling of his skin against mine.
I gather my strength to pull away, but Alex’s hand tightens around mine, holding me in place. Then he slowly presses a kiss to my temple. Then my cheek. Then another one and another. Hundred little kisses all over my face. Soft and worshiping.
My heart hammers so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I wonder if he knows how close I am to falling apart.
“Alex.” My voice shakes. “I need to go.”
He pulls back, his eyes locked on mine.
For a second, it looks like he might say something, but he just exhales and releases me.
