15. Olivia #2
"It matters to me." My voice climbed higher, sharper. Not quite yelling, but straining at the edges. "You don't get to walk in here and tell me to blow up my life without a reason."
"The reason is you're being watched."
"By who?"
Silence.
Heat flooded my face. My hands trembled, but I fisted them tighter, nails biting into my palms.
"You don't know anything about my life. You don't know what it took for me to get here, to have anything—"
"I know more than you think."
The words came out too quiet. Too controlled. Like he was holding something back that wanted to explode.
My breath caught. "What does that mean?"
He didn't answer. Just stood there radiating tension, jaw locked so tight I thought his teeth might crack.
"This is exactly what everyone does," I whispered. The anger drained out of me, left something colder behind. "Judge my choices. Tell me I'm making mistakes. Decide what's best for me without asking—"
"I'm trying to protect you."
"I don't need protecting."
"Yes, you do."
"From what?" My voice broke on the word. "You won't tell me anything. You just want me to trust you and quit my job and—"
"Because you're not listening—"
"Because you're not talking—"
We were breathing hard now. The space between us had collapsed to nothing—inches, maybe less. I could feel the heat radiating off him, see his chest rising and falling too fast. His eyes burned into mine. Dark and dangerous and something else that made my stomach twist.
The air crackled. Electric. Suffocating.
I couldn't look away. Didn't want to. My pulse hammered against my ribs, loud enough I thought he might hear it. His hands flexed at his sides, like he was fighting not to reach for me.
The apartment shrank around us until nothing existed except this moment. This impossible, terrible space where everything I'd tried to keep buried clawed its way to the surface.
"Olivia." My name came out rough. Almost broken.
I stopped breathing. The silence hit like a punch. I acted before I thought—reached up, fisted my hands in his hoodie, and pulled him down to me.
Our mouths collided.
A soft, terrified sound escaped my throat. Part desperation, part need, part something I couldn't name. I kissed him like I was drowning and he was air. Like if I let go, I'd fall apart completely.
He froze. Went absolutely rigid under my hands. His breath caught sharp against my lips.
For one awful, mortifying second I thought he'd push me away. Thought he'd step back and look at me with pity or disgust or worse—nothing at all.
Then his hands moved. Hovered at my waist. Not touching yet. Trembling slightly, like he was fighting every instinct screaming at him.
I felt the war happening inside him. Shock bleeding into hunger bleeding into guilt. All of it crashing through him in the span of a heartbeat.
And then—
He kissed me back.
Hard.
His hands found my waist and pulled me against him in one swift motion. No gentleness. No hesitation. Just desperate, controlled violence channeled into the way his mouth crashed over mine.
I gasped, and he took advantage—deepened the kiss until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything except hold on.
My back hit the wall. I didn't remember moving. Didn't care. His body pressed against mine—solid, overwhelming, real in a way that made everything else dissolve.
One hand slid up my spine, tangled in my hair. Not pulling, just holding. Anchoring me to him while his mouth worked against mine like he was trying to memorize the shape of me.
Heat flooded through me—sharp and bright and terrifying.
I'd never been kissed like this. Like I mattered. Like he couldn't stop himself even if he tried.
His other hand gripped my hip, thumb pressing against bare skin where my sweatshirt had ridden up. The contact burned. Made me whimper into his mouth.
He groaned—low, rough, broken—and the sound shattered something inside me.
I kissed him harder. Pulled him closer even though there was no space left between us. My fingers twisted in his hoodie, nails scraping fabric, trying to find purchase on something solid while my world spun out of control.
This was a mistake.
I knew it was a mistake.
But I couldn't make myself stop.
My shoulders hit the counter edge. Sharp. Sudden. I gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, one hand bracing against the laminate behind me to keep us both upright.
My fingers trembled against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat hammering under my palms—wild, erratic, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
His hands finally settled on my hips. Really settled. Fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Desperate. Like he needed something to anchor him before he drowned.
The pressure sent heat racing through me. Made me arch into him without thinking.
He broke the kiss. Pulled back just enough that cold air rushed between us. His forehead pressed against mine, breath coming in ragged bursts that ghosted across my lips.
"This is a mistake." The words scraped out of him. Raw. Broken.
I shook my head. Couldn't find my voice.
"I shouldn't—" His grip tightened on my hips. Contradicting every word. "You don't know what you're doing."
My hands fisted in his hoodie. Held on even though he was trying to retreat.
"Olivia." My name sounded like a prayer and a curse all at once. "I'm too old for you. I'm your—"
"Don't let go."
The whisper escaped before I could stop it. Soft against his mouth. Terrified and certain all at once.
His entire body went rigid.
I felt the moment something inside him snapped. The last thread of control he'd been clinging to severed clean through.
A sound tore from his throat—half groan, half surrender—and then his mouth crashed back onto mine. Harder this time. Hungrier. Like he'd been holding back before and couldn't anymore.
His hands left my hips, slid up my sides, pulled me flush against him until there was no space, no air, nothing except heat and need and the desperate press of his body against mine.
I stopped thinking. Stopped worrying. Stopped being afraid. Just kissed him back like my life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
His fingers tangled in my hair. Tilted my head back. Deepened the kiss until I couldn't remember why this was supposed to be wrong. All I knew was I'd never felt safer than I did right now. Pressed against my cheap counter. In his arms.
Finally not alone.