Page 143 of Bottle Shock
So I pushed it away, shoved it down, placed it behind a locked door. Because if he never said it again—I didn’t want to be the only one holding on to the one time he did.
His hands come up to cradle my jaw, thumbs stroking under my cheekbones, eyes locked with mine. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know I wasn’t saying it because everything was exploding.”
I nod, unblinking, something inside me loosening, unraveling, coming undone all at once.
“Falling for you has been like fallingof a cliff—the adrenaline, the danger, the way I feel like I might die if I land wrong. You make my heart feel like it’s beating again. All the risks I used to take, all the dangerous things I used to do—none of them compare to how you make feel. You make me feel alive.”
My eyes burn, hot, my vision blurring.
“I thought I’d given up on that part of myself—the part addicted to the rush—not knowing you would be the biggest rush of all.”
My heart squeezes, achingly full. The kind of full that makes it hard to breathe because it’s never held this much before.
“I love you too.”
He looks startled, like he didn’t expect me to say it, but how could I not when it was practically bursting out of me.
Before I can get another word out, his mouth meets mine. Gentle. Hesitant. Like he’s afraid to push me further.
I lean in, kissing him back—deepening it, choosing him.
He makes a sound in his throat, and it vibrates between us.
We stumble inside on instinct. Our movements turning frantic and clumsy without breaking our kiss.
His body presses to mine, backing me up until I hit the wall. His mouth consumes me—hands sliding into my hair, at my waist, everywhere he can reach. I fist his shirt in my hands, pulling him closer.
He lifts me, hands firm on my thighs as I wrap my legs around him.
His forehead drops to mine for a beat—one ragged breath shared between us—before he starts moving, guiding us up the stairs.
My fingers slip into his hair, loosening his bun, and tugging hard, drawing a low sound from him—one that hits low and deep inside me.
“Gav,” I plead, rolling my hips.
“I know,” he breathes, strained and raw, and it undoes me completely.
We reach the top of the stairs and a few strides later he’s tossing me onto the bed, crawling over top of me.
He settles between my thighs, weight braced on one forearm, his other hand sliding up the back of my leg—slow, claiming. His gaze flicks over my face, my mouth, my chest, like he’s deciding where to start and hates that he can’t touch all of me at once.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, low enough to feel more than hear.
I drag my nails down his spine, the lightest scratch. “You.”
He huffs a breath as his eyes blaze over me like they’re battling between hunger and patience. “You have me.”
I reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging.
He sits back just enough to pull it over his head in one motion, tossing it aside.
I follow, lifting my own shirt off, discarding it. His eyes flare, skimming over my exposed skin.
His hands move to my hips, fingers hooked in my shorts, eyes on mine as he slides them down, along with my panties, in one smooth motion.
“I want you everywhere.” I squirm, needy for him.
“Everywhere,” he repeats, voice rough around the edges.
