Chapter Nineteen: The Breaking Point

For a second, he froze, those blue eyes locked on mine. Then the corner of his mouth curved, slow and dangerous, and his hand slid into my hair, tipping my head just enough before his lips crashed against mine.

The kiss stole the breath from me. It wasn't careful, wasn't measured—it was years of swallowed-down feelings breaking loose all at once. I gasped against him, my fingers curling into his shirt to keep myself steady as he pressed closer.

He tasted like whiskey and smoke, rough edges and something sweeter underneath. His free hand found my waist, pulling me flush to him, and I felt the rumble of a low sound in his chest.

I broke away for air, laughing softly before I could stop myself. "About time."

"Careful," he muttered against my mouth, his lips already chasing mine again. "You start talkin' smart, I'll shut you up."

"Promise?" I teased, though the word barely made it out before his mouth claimed mine again.

We stumbled backward, bumping against the counter. He braced one hand against it beside me, caging me in, while the other slid up my back, anchoring me there. The rough scrape of his rings grazed my spine through the thin fabric of my shirt, and the shiver it pulled from me made him smirk against my lips.

"Trouble," he growled softly, almost like a warning.

I tugged at the hem of his shirt in answer, fingers brushing the heat of his skin. "You're the one who said you couldn't stop," I whispered back.

That was all it took.

The kiss turned hungrier, deeper, his tongue sliding against mine, his body pressing me tighter into the counter like he couldn't stand even an inch of space. I clutched at him, nails scraping lightly across his back through the thin cotton, and he let out a sharp breath, the sound sending heat pooling low in my stomach.

He pulled back just long enough to look at me, breath ragged, his forehead resting against mine. "You sure about this?"

I met his eyes, heart pounding. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

Something shifted in his gaze then, something softer beneath the fire. Whatever hesitation he had left snapped clean away.

He grabbed me by the waist and spun us toward the couch, stumbling together as we kissed, laughing into each other's mouths like we couldn't decide if this was reckless or the only thing that ever made sense.

By the time my back hit the cushions, my hands had already found his hair, tugging, pulling him closer, and he groaned into my neck, the sound low and rough. His lips traced fire along my skin, down to my collarbone, while his hands worked the hem of my shirt higher, fingers brushing over bare skin.

I arched into him, my own hands desperate now, tugging his shirt free, fingertips tracing the lines of muscle beneath. Every touch was too much and not enough all at once.

He pulled back for half a second, eyes searching mine like he was giving me one last chance to pull away.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

There's no stopping now. And neither of us wants to.