Chapter 7 #3
“Then tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.” My voice shakes at the edges, but the demand cuts through. “I want the truth, Zane.”
He drags his gaze away, throat working hard, the silence stretching before he glances back my way.
His eyes flick to my mouth, then away again, like he is fighting a losing battle.
“You think I’ve been ignoring you,” he mutters at last, his voice rough.
“I don’t think,” I bite out. “I know.”
When he doesn’t answer, the silence gnaws at me until the words slip free.
“Don’t act like I imagined it,” I whisper.
His eyes snap to mine, blazing.
“I’m not,” he rasps. “I’m fucking trying, Skylar.”
“Trying what?”
His laugh is sharp and broken, scraping the air between us. “To keep my distance. To stop wanting you so bad I can’t fucking breathe.”
The rooftop tilts under me, my heart pounding hard enough to split my chest.
“Then don’t.”
The fight snaps in him and he surges forward, his mouth landing against mine.
The kiss is not cautious. It’s desperate. Hungry. Reckless.
His lips tear the air from my lungs, taking everything I thought I had left.
He kisses me as if he has been drowning, and I am the first breath he has had in years.
His hands are everywhere. Cupping my face, tangling in my hair, gripping hard enough to pin me to the roof. Heat pours through me, flooding fast, searing down to my bones.
Then he pulls back, abrupt and ragged, breath tearing from him in violent bursts.
I blink, reeling. “What—”
He sits hunched, chest heaving, jaw tight, as if holding himself together costs him everything.
“You don’t get it, Sky. You make me forget all the shit. Where I come from. What I am. What everyone sees when they look at me.”
“I don’t see what they see.”
His voice drops. “Then what do you see?”
I do not hesitate. “You.”
And I mean it.
I see him. The boy who sits alone at lunch because people are never safe. The boy who looks ready to break your jaw if you get too close, yet stays still when you lean into him. The boy who kissed me as if it mattered, then ran because he didn’t know how to stay.
He cannot hold my stare. His jaw flexes hard as he looks away, as if turning from me could hide the way my words cut into him.
I reach for him.
His hand snaps up, catching mine midair, stopping me cold. His grip is rough, his skin hot against mine, and for a breath it comes off less as rejection and more as a warning.
“Don’t pull away from me, Zane.”
His jaw locks. “Fuck. You’re gonna kill me.” His eyes close, head tipping back as if it physically hurts him to look at me. “You think I don’t fucking want you?” His voice cracks.
He drags my hand down until it lands on his hard cock against his jeans.
My breath stumbles, my pulse thrashing as I curl my fingers around him through the denim. I stroke him, hesitant at first, then firmer.
His breath tears out in stutters, curses spilling from his lips, voice breaking apart. “Fucking hell, Skylar—”
His head tips back hard, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parting as a moan rips from deep in his chest.
The sound spurs me on, drives me past the shaking in my fingers.
I rise onto my knees, pushing gently until his back sinks against the tin.
His chest rises hard, his breath stills as I hover over him.
My fingers fumble at the button, clumsy and unsteady, trembling with nerves I can’t shake. The metal fights me, slipping each time I think I’ve got it, frustration clawing its way through my chest. My pulse hammers harder, my breath uneven, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
His eyes pin me in place, dark and burning, watching every single move I make, stripping me bare without a word.
This is the first time I’ve ever touched someone like this, and the weight of it presses down until my skin prickles, every nerve lit and screaming. My whole body buzzes, breath stuttering as I force my fingers to keep working, knowing exactly what waits on the other side of that zipper.
His jaw flexes, a muscle jumping as his eyes stay locked on me. His chest heaves, every rise sharp, as if he’s fighting to keep himself from snapping apart.
The button pops, the zipper rasping down. My hand slides inside, over the rough fabric, brushing the waistband of his boxers before I push lower. My fingers curl around him. My lungs forget how to work.
He’s hard.
So fucking hard in my hand, every twitch against my grip proof of how bad he wants it.
A hiss tears from him the second I touch his cock. His head tips back, throat bare, and a curse rips out of him.
“Fuck—”
His hips jerk up into my fist, chasing it, demanding more.
I stroke him slow, then tighter, dragging my hand along his shaft, feeling the weight, the size, the ache of him. Precum smears over the tip, making every slide dirtier, filthier.
His breath shudders, broken sounds spilling from his mouth. His chest heaves, every line of him straining.
“Fucking hell.” The sound tears out of him.
There’s no mistaking what he wants. His eyes crack open, dark and burning.
“Get your fucking mouth on me,” he rasps, voice shredded, jaw flexing as his cock jerks in my hand. His chest heaves, every muscle pulled tight. “Suck my cock, Skylar.”