Chapter Eighteen #2
I smiled, unable to help it. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything,” I said. “I’m just telling the truth.”
He turned more onto his side, his body fitting even closer. “Mhm,” he hummed, low and unconvinced.
My hand went to his neck, holding him there as his eyes traced my face—my nose, my jaw… my mouth. The interest in them made my stomach swoop.
“You don’t know how you take my breath away,” I whispered.
His blue eyes snapped back to mine, and something in me gave. Melted. Everything about him felt overwhelming in the best way. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Ethan’s lips parted. His gaze dipped, lashes shadowing his cheeks, and then his hand fisted in my shirt, pulling me in with quiet, desperate strength. I barely had time to register the heat of him before I was there—against his mouth, soft and warm and already opening for me.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. Not frantic either.
It was deep. Intentional. Like we were finally meeting in the middle.
Our lips moved together, slow at first, then hungrier—tongues sliding, pressing, relearning the shape of each other. I felt his breath hitch every time I kissed him harder, the quiet sounds he made sending a jolt straight through me. My hands came up without thinking, steadying him. Us.
Then we were kissing. Really kissing.
And I did it like I’d been holding back for months. For fucking years. Like my body finally remembered exactly where it belonged and refused to let go. Like if he didn’t keep opening for me—keep letting me feel him like this—I might actually shatter in his hands.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. I rested my forehead against his, our noses brushing, the space between us charged and fragile and alive. Our breaths mingled in the cold air, warm bursts against chilled skin. I leaned in again, ready to give him everything—
And stopped at the firm press of his hand against my chest, holding me back.
“You’re like fucking human crack or something,” he muttered. “Fuck.”
“Darling—”
“No.” His voice was firm—so was the rest of him—as he pushed me back and stood, turning away. “We can’t be trusted with this, Sebastian. We’re alone. Unsupervised. We can’t.”
“Why not?”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, shoulders tight. “Because it’s complicated. You know that.”
Right.
Because it was time.
And I was done pretending it wasn’t.
“Darling,” I said, “would you look at me?”
“No.” His voice broke just enough to betray him. “Every time I look at you, everything gets fucked up.”
The movement was slow as I slid down onto the floor. My knees hit the cold stone, the chill biting through my skin. I didn’t reach for him. Didn’t touch him. I stayed where I was—spine straight, hands open at my sides, palms up.
No control. No armor. No defense.
Just me.
“Please.”
He turned. And froze.
His eyes dropped from the couch to the floor—to me—and went wide, like his mind couldn’t quite catch up to what he was seeing. Like the image didn’t make sense yet.
“You said you wanted me to beg,” I said, steady despite the way my heart threatened to tear itself out of my chest.
His lips parted.
“So here I am. And I’m ready to do just about anything to earn your forgiveness. Even if you say no. Even if you have every reason to.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“I’m sorry I left,” I said. “I’m sorry I stopped trying. I’m sorry I filled my head with excuses and plans to keep us apart.”
His throat worked.
“I’m sorry I didn’t break up with him the moment I saw you. I’m sorry I let you believe—even for a second—that you were optional. That you were something I could walk away from.”
Ethan’s fingers curled at his side, knuckles whitening. He didn’t look away.
“And I’m sorry it took me this long to say it out loud,” I went on, my voice rough now. “Because I’ve known it for years.”
He shook his head faintly. “You’re upset—”
“No,” I interrupted, stopping the thought before it could finish forming. “I’m not. I know exactly what I’m saying.”
“This—this whole thing just fucked with your head,” he tried. “You don’t mean—”
“Ethan.”
He stopped, whatever he’d been about to say falling away.
I drew in a breath and pulled everything to the surface—every truth I’d buried, every feeling I’d locked away—because he had always been able to read me. Because there had never been a version of this where I could lie to him and get away with it.
My lips curved, just barely. “Can we just pretend…”
His breath hitched. His eyes gleamed.
“Just for a second,” I continued, “that I didn’t fuck this up beyond repair. That you still trust me. That you know no one has ever had me—has ever held my heart in their hands—the way you do. Please?”
The word sat between us. Raw. Exposed.
I stayed where I was, on my knees, letting him see all of it. All of me.
The indecision was written all over his face—the want, the fear, the years of damage I’d caused.
And still—
He nodded. A small, careful thing.
I swallowed hard, pulse roaring in my ears.
And jumped off the ledge.
“I love you, Ethan.”
His eyes went impossibly wide.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt, but the words didn’t scare me the way I’d expected. They felt inevitable. Necessary.
“I love you,” I said again.
Because I finally could.