Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Her lips part, and for a moment, she looks like she wants to argue. Then she exhales, dropping her gaze. “Okay,” she says softly, though her eyes remain clouded with doubt.
I power through the moment, busying myself with the kettle. The stove’s blue flame flickers, casting faint shadows on the walls. Briar hovers by the fridge, hand resting lightly on the handle. She doesn’t open it, though, just stands there, lost in thought. The silence weighs heavy. So much has happened in the span of just a couple hours—fear, memories, that note I haven’t shown her. And the adrenaline from it all swirls inside me, mixing with something else. Something that stirs whenever I look at her.
I shut the stove off once the kettle whistles and pour steaming water into two mugs, dropping in tea bags. When I turn, she’s watching me with an expression that’s equal parts confusion and longing. My heart speeds up as I cross the few steps between us. “Here,” I say, handing her a mug.
“Thanks,” she whispers, the ceramic warm in her hands. She takes a tentative sip, her eyes drifting shut at the heat. “I’m sorry for being so jumpy. I know this is your job, and I keep—”
“Hey,” I interject, setting my own mug aside. My free hand lifts to brush a stray hair from her forehead. “You don’t need to apologize for being scared. You’ve been through a lot.”
She glances up at me. For a moment, I see the vulnerability in her eyes, that raw place where Jason’s caused so much pain. The protective part of me roars to the surface, wanting to fix it all. But there’s also an undeniable attraction pulling me in, a gravitational force I can’t deny. And judging by the way she’s looking at me, she feels it too.
I can’t help myself. I lean in, letting my forehead touch hers lightly. Her breath hitches, and I feel the warmth of it against my lips. “We’ll figure this out,” I murmur. “One step at a time.”
Her mug trembles slightly in her grasp. She sets it on the counter with a soft clink of ceramic against stone. “I know,” she manages, voice low. Then she closes the distance between us, standing on her tiptoes. Her lips brush mine, gentle at first—like she’s testing the waters.
Heat flares in my chest. Cupping the back of her neck, I let the kiss deepen, the taste of mint tea mingling with a sweetness that is entirely Briar. She sighs into my mouth, and I feel her body relax against me, like she’s letting go of the tension that’s been piling up for days, maybe weeks.
I press her back against the counter, my hand braced on the surface beside her. She grips the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer, and a jolt of electricity courses through me. There’s something raw and urgent in the way she clings to me, as if needing this contact to prove she’s alive and safe.
Her fingers slide up to my shoulders, then curl around the back of my neck, drawing me down. A low sound escapes my throat—a mix of hunger and relief. With every brush of our lips, every shift of our bodies, the tension between us swells, and I’m finding it harder and harder to hold back. Her breathy little gasps spur me on, and I move my hand to her waist, anchoring her against me.
Time blurs. The worries of the night—the suspicious figure, that damned note—fade to the outer limit. Right now, the only thing that exists is her warmth, her scent, the flutter of her pulse beneath my fingertips. She arches into me, and I thread my fingers into her hair, reveling in the softness.
“Orion,” she murmurs, my name catching in her throat. It’s a plea and a question all at once.
I break the kiss, just enough to catch my breath. My forehead dips to hers, my own breathing ragged. In the silence, I can hear the steady tick of the kitchen clock, the hum of the fridge. “Is this okay?” I ask, my voice thick, my thumb gently stroking the curve of her jaw.
Her eyes flick open, darkened with emotion I can’t quite name. Fear is still there, but so is need, and something that feels a lot like trust. She nods, swallowing hard. “Yes,” she whispers. “I want this.”
A surge of relief and desire courses through me, and I capture her lips again, this time more insistent. She responds with equal fervor, her hands sliding under my jacket, pressing against my shoulder blades. I feel the steady pound of her heart through the thin layers of clothing between us.
I lift her onto the counter, and she lets out a little gasp, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist. The position sends a flare of heat right to my core, and I tighten my grip on her hips. She clings to me, her mouth parting, inviting me in deeper.