Less
This is it.
I know the second I do this—the second I cross this line—there’s no going back.
Not for me.
Not for her.
Not for whatever fragile peace we’ve managed to hold together tonight.
But the way she’s looking at me right now?
The soft lamplight catching in her red hair.
She’s sitting on the couch with me crouched on the floor before her—like a servant worshipping at the feet of his queen.
And she is that.
My queen. My ruler. My everything.
Her pale green eyes watch me like she’s trying to read every thought in my head.
It feels like something more than coincidence.
Like fate.
Or forgiveness.
Maybe even a gift.
Either way—I’m taking it.
And this time?
I won’t fuck it up.
Not again.
I straighten slowly from where I’d crouched in front of her and take one step closer.
Amanda doesn’t move.
Doesn’t look away.
Her head tilts back.
Her red-stained lips part slightly.
The scent of jasmine perfuses the air surrounding us.
My pulse starts hammering in my ears.
“Rusty,” I say quietly.
Her breath catches.
“Don’t call me that,” she murmurs.
But there’s no real heat behind the words.
“Why not?”
“You lost the right.”
Fair.
And because I want that right back, I don’t move away.
Instead, I reach out slowly, giving her every chance in the world to stop me.
My hand brushes a loose curl away from her cheek.
I cup my hand around her neck, and I tug on it until she’s standing right in front of me.
Her skin is warm beneath my fingers.
She shivers—fucking shivers.
And now my cock is so hard I could pound nails with it.
Three years and she still reacts to me like that.
“You should hate me,” I say quietly.
“Some days I do.”
“And the other days?”
She swallows.
Her voice drops to almost nothing.
“The other days are worse.”
“Why?”
“Because on those days I forget how you left me, and I-I still care, Alessio.”
My chest tightens.
Because I know exactly what she means.
I’ve lived those same days.
Every single one of them.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” I admit.
Her eyes flash.
“You don’t get to say things like that now.”
“I know, but it’s true.”
“No, I don’t believe you.”
“That fucking hurts, Rusty. I deserve it, but it fucking hurts.”
Silence settles between us.
Heavy.
Electric.
She’s close enough that I can see the tiny freckles across her nose. Close enough that the faint scent of her shampoo drifts into my lungs.
Sweet jasmine and temptation.
My other hand reaches for her and slides behind her, pulling her into me.
I know if I don’t touch her, if I don’t get her as close as I can, I might lose my damn mind.
“You should tell me to leave,” I say softly.
Amanda looks up at me.
Really looks.
Like she’s weighing something.
Then she whispers, “I should.”
But she doesn’t.
And that’s all the permission I need.
I lean down slowly.
Giving her time.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Her breath fans across my mouth.
If she pulls away now—I’ll stop.
I swear I will.
But she doesn’t move.
Her fingers twist in the fabric of my suit jacket instead.
And that’s it.
I close the distance.
The first touch of her lips against mine feels like lightning.
Soft.
Familiar.
Perfect.
For half a heartbeat she freezes.
Then Amanda kisses me back.
Harder.
Her hands clutch the front of my jacket as she pulls me closer, and every ounce of restraint I’ve been holding onto for three goddamn years snaps like a thread.
I deepen the kiss, sliding one hand gently to her jaw while the other settles at her waist.
She makes this soft sound in the back of her throat.
Something halfway between a sigh and a gasp.
Fuck, but that sound nearly kills me.
I pull back just long enough to look at her.
Her lipstick is smudged.
Her breathing uneven.
Her eyes wide and bright.
“Tell me to stop,” I say roughly.
She shakes her head.
“I don’t want you to stop, Less. I want more.”
Relief crashes through me like a tidal wave.
I kiss her again.
Deeper this time.
Tasting her.
Savoring her.
Because for the first time in three years—Amanda Perkins is in my arms again.
And I have absolutely no intention of letting her go.