Page 107 of Lighting the Lamp
“You don’t get to tell me you care,” she chokes out, “and then disappear.”
Then the thread deep inside me that’s held everything back for too long snaps, and I lunge. My hands find her face, thumbs sliding onto damp cheeks, fingers tangling into her hair like it’s instinct. Her breath hitches, a sharp gasp that barely hits the air before I crush my mouth to hers.
It’s not pretty or gentle. It’s clumsy and messy and desperate, lips parting on a sharp inhale, teeth clashing, breath mingling—hers quick and furious, mine ragged and pleading. Her mouth tastes like salt and fury, like this is my last fucking chance I have to make the most of it.
She shoves hard at my chest with both hands, and I stumble a step back, but she doesn’t let go. She grabs my shirt instead, yanking me back with a strangled sob and kissing me like she hates me for making her need this so badly.
A low, guttural groan escapes as her back hits the drywall with a dullthud,and I press my body into hers. One hand slides to her waist, the other cradling the back of her head like she might break if I’m not careful. She arches into me, fingers sliding into my hair and pulling hard, and the sensation slices clean down my spine.
We kiss like we’re starving and trying to erase all the things we didn’t say with lips and teeth and breath. She gasps when I tilt her head, tongue sweeping into her mouth, and our knees buckle. We cling to each other like gravity just flipped upside down. The air between us is hot and electric, crackling with everything that’s never been safe to say.
When I finally pull back, our foreheads press together. We’re both shaking and so close I can taste her breath on my tongue. Her hand is still over my heart, palm flat, like she’s checking to see if it’s still beating, and it is. Loud, unrelenting, and every pulse screaming her name.
“I’m here,” I whisper, my voice nearly gone. “I’m still here.”
Her breath fans across my lips, quick and unsteady. Our bodies are still pressed together, hearts hammering like they’re trying to break through skin just to reach each other. Her hands tremble where they grip my shirt, knuckles white, like she doesn’t trust the ground beneath her anymore.
But for the first time in weeks, I feel her lean in. Not because I pulled her, but because she wants to stay.
“I’m still here,” I whisper again, because it’s all I have.
And then her mouth crashes into mine, like she’s pulling the truth out of me with her teeth. My hands slide to her hips, gripping tight enough to leave bruises, and I press her harderagainst the wall. Her entire body shudders, and a sound slips from her throat—half sob, half moan—and I swear, it undoes me.
I brace myself on trembling arms, holding just enough distance to reallyseeher for what feels like the first time. Flushed cheeks, pupils blown wide, lips parted like she’s still tasting me. Her nails leave marks down my back, and I don’t know if she realizes she’s still gripping me like I’m the only steady thing left in her world. God, I hope I am.
Clothes are tugged and shoved, frantic and clumsy, out of the way. My hoodie hits the floor first, then her shirt gets bunched between us. I fumble with the button on her jeans, fingers shaking so badly I nearly rip the damn thing off. She’s doing the same to mine, kissing me between curses and gasps, our mouths breaking only long enough to breathe. She’s soft and trembling beneath my palms, and I swear I feel her heart thudding as hard as mine.
“I thought I lost you,” she breathes, head tilting back when I plant open-mouthed and desperate kisses down her neck, tasting salt and skin and every ounce of pain she’s tried to carry alone. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
I drag my mouth up to hers again, swallowing the words before they ruin me.
“I never stopped wanting you,” I say, the truth breaking out of me like a prayer. “I was just afraid.”
Her hand flattens over my chest again, right over where it hurts worst.
“What were you afraid of?” she whispers.
Everything.That I’ll end up being too much. That I’m not enough. That the way I’ve been falling apart will destroy everything we’ve built. That if she ever really saw the cracks, the pain, the truth, I’d lose her. I’m afraid that I might already have, but I can’t say any of that. So, I show her instead.
I take her face in both hands and kiss her like it’s the only thing anchoring me to this earth. Like she’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel whole. My forehead presses against hers again, looking into her eyes and letting her see the wreckage. She exhales a shaky breath, then grabs my hand and pulls.
Her breath catches, just a stutter of sound, but I feel it ripple through her, like a wave too big for her ribs to contain. Her eyes search mine, wet and burning, and for a second, we just breathe. Nose to nose. Heart to heart. Her lips part as if she is about to say something that might ruin us or save us. I don’t know which. Then she moves again. Not frantic this time, but slow, deliberate, like she’s making a choice, and she’s choosing us.
Her hands come up to frame my jaw, thumbs brushing the corner of my mouth, and I forget how to breathe. She kisses me again—softer, steadier—but no less desperate. This isn’t about lust. It’s survival. It’s the only way she knows to keep me from slipping through her fingers again.
Her fingers curl into my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan. Our bodies press together—hip to hip, chest to chest—and we stumble blindly toward the bedroom like nothing else in the world matters but where we’re going and how fast we get there. We bump into walls, half-stripped and barely able to breathe through how badly we need each other. The bedroom door swings open, and I don’t wait. I catch her around the waist and spin, lowering her onto the bed with a groan that comes from somewhere deep in my chest. She pulls me down with her, lips locked on mine, legs wrapped around me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear, but I’m not going anywhere.
“Alise…” I whisper it like a secret plea. “I’m not okay without you.”
She pulls me in, meeting every kiss with more of herself, until I’m not sure where I end and she begins, until my bones forget how to hold me up without her touch, and I settle betweenher thighs. The hungry sound she makes sends a jolt through my spine. My mouth drags down the line of her jaw, across her throat, pausing at the quick, erratic beat beneath her skin. I taste everything she’s afraid to say—her fear, her ache, the hope buried beneath both.
“You still want this?” I ask, voice rough, eyes locked on hers.
“Yes.”
One simple word that slams into me like a lifeline.
I push her jeans down, palms skating over her thighs, and my hands explore like they’re starved. I take my time committing every detail to memory. The curve of her waist. The dip of her hips. The soft skin beneath her bra is warm against my mouth, and she tastes like forever. Like something I could spend a lifetime chasing and still be terrified to lose. Every kiss is a prayer I don’t deserve answered, a promise that I’ll never stop reaching for her, no matter how many times the world tries to break me. Every breath, every tremor, every twitch of her body feels like a vow. She lifts her hips to help, our bodies sliding together, desperate and alive in a way that terrifies me.
