The morning sunlight streamed through my curtains, but I hadn't slept more than a handful of hours. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands again — the heat of his breath, the way his voice had promised things that should've scared me. Things that thrilled me instead.
I shoved the blanket off, dragging myself to the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes rimmed in dark circles. I looked like a girl who had been kissed senseless and hadn't recovered.
I splashed cold water on my face, gripping the sink like it could anchor me.
Avoid him. That's the only way.
So I tiptoed downstairs, careful, every step rehearsed to avoid the creak in the third stair. If I was quick enough, maybe I could make coffee, grab some toast, and escape back to my room before he even stirred.
But of course, Adrian wasn't the kind of man you could slip past.
His voice came from behind me, low and scratchy from sleep.
"Running away again, Lila?"
I froze, the mug in my hand nearly slipping. My heart went straight into my throat.
Slowly, I turned.
He was leaning against the doorway, hair messy, sweatpants hanging indecently low on his hips. He hadn't even bothered with a shirt, and the sight of his chest — cut lines of muscle and ink tracing his skin — made my stomach flip violently.
I forced my gaze back to my mug. "I'm not running. Just… making breakfast."
He chuckled, deep and dark. The sound wrapped around me, tightening the knot in my belly.
"You don't even eat breakfast."
"I do now." My voice cracked on the words.
Adrian stepped forward, each step deliberate, like a predator closing in.
"You think you can ignore me? Pretend you didn't beg for my hands on you last night?"
Heat shot up my neck, my cheeks flaming. "Shut up," I snapped, though it came out more like a whisper.
He reached me in two strides, his hand braced against the counter, caging me in. His body was so close I could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint trace of smoke and cedar clinging to his skin.
"Don't tell me to shut up," he murmured, tilting his head so his mouth brushed the shell of my ear. "Not when I can still hear the way you moaned for me. Say what you want, princess… your body tells the truth."
My knees wobbled. I hated how easily he broke through me. I hated that he was right.
So I did the only thing I could. I shoved at his chest, glaring. "Stay away from me, Adrian."
His grin was slow, dangerous. He caught my wrist mid-shove and held it against his heart, hard and steady beneath my palm.
"I'll stay away when you stop looking at me like that," he whispered.
And God help me — I couldn't stop.
His chest was hot under my palm, his heartbeat steady while mine thrashed like a trapped bird. I should've yanked my hand away. I should've screamed at him, told him to go to hell.
Instead, I froze — caught in the weight of his stare.
Adrian's thumb brushed over my wrist, lazy, possessive. "You feel that?" His voice dropped even lower, rougher, like gravel dragging across steel. "That's how calm I am when you're this close. You undo me, Lila. And you don't even know it."
"Let go," I whispered.
He didn't. He leaned in, his mouth hovering just above mine, his breath warm and intoxicating. "Tell me you don't want me. Say it, and I'll walk away."
The words caught in my throat. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Because saying it would've been a lie.
His smirk told me he knew it.
Adrian tilted his head and kissed me — not soft, not teasing, but raw and punishing. His lips claimed mine, his tongue pushing past my parted mouth before I could think. My free hand flew to his shoulder, nails digging into bare skin, half in resistance, half in desperate need.
The mug slipped from my grip and shattered on the floor, but neither of us cared.
He pressed me back against the counter, his body caging mine completely. His other hand slid to my hip, gripping hard enough to bruise. The sound I made was somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and it only spurred him on.
"See?" he muttered against my lips. "You want this. You want me."
I shook my head weakly, even as my legs parted just enough for him to wedge himself closer. My resolve was crumbling, melting under his heat.
"Adrian…" My voice cracked, breathless.
He trailed kisses down my jaw, rough nips along my throat that made me shiver. His teeth grazed that tender spot just under my ear, and I nearly came undone.
"You taste like you were made for me," he growled. His hand slid lower, fingers brushing the edge of my shorts. My pulse skyrocketed.
"No—" I gasped, grabbing his wrist.
He stilled, eyes burning into mine. For a heartbeat, it felt like the whole world held its breath.
Then slowly, deliberately, he pried my fingers off his wrist, pinning both my hands above my head against the cabinets.
"You can lie to yourself all you want," he said, his voice dark and commanding. "But you don't get to lie to me."
The way he held me — strong, unyielding, certain — made my insides twist with both fear and something far more dangerous.
Because he was right.
I wanted him.
God help me, I wanted him.
My wrists strained against his grip, but it was useless. Adrian held me pinned so easily, like I was nothing but a toy caught in his hands.
"Let me go," I whispered, but my voice had no strength.
His eyes burned, molten and hungry. "You don't want me to."
I shook my head frantically, but the way my chest heaved, the way my thighs pressed together, told a different story.
Adrian lowered his mouth until his lips barely brushed mine, taunting me with a kiss he wouldn't give. "Do you feel how badly I want you, Lila? Every time you run, it only makes me chase harder."
He ground his hips into mine, and the shock of hard heat pressing against me ripped a broken sound from my throat. I turned my face away, desperate to escape the way he made me feel.
But he caught my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Eyes on me. Always."
It was a command, not a request. And my body obeyed before my mind could argue.
His mouth descended on mine again, rougher, deeper. His tongue tangled with mine, devouring me until I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My whole body trembled, a live wire sparking under his touch.
When he finally tore his lips away, I gasped for air. My chest rose and fell against his, our skin slick where it brushed together.
His free hand slid up under my tank top, fingertips skating over my stomach, teasing higher, higher—
I whimpered and twisted, trying to pull away. "Adrian, please—"
He stilled, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. "Please what? Stop? Or don't stop?"
I couldn't answer. My silence was damning, and he knew it.
His hand closed over my breast, squeezing, thumb circling my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. A choked moan tore from me before I could bite it back.
"Fuck," he groaned against my throat, his voice ragged. "You're killing me, Lila."
He rocked into me again, harder this time, and I gasped, nails digging into his arms where he still pinned me. Every nerve screamed yes, even as my brain screamed no.
Just when I thought I would shatter completely—
The sound of a door slamming shut echoed through the house.
We both froze.
Adrian's grip tightened, his jaw flexing. Slowly, he released my wrists, stepping back. His chest rose and fell like a caged animal barely holding back from tearing through the bars.
I pressed against the counter, trembling, my lips swollen, my body aching for what he'd almost done.
His eyes stayed locked on mine as he backed away. "This isn't over, princess. Not even close."
Then he was gone, leaving me breathless, shaking, and terrified of how much I already craved more.
I gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned white, my chest still heaving. My whole body buzzed like I'd been wired to a live current. My lips were swollen, my breasts ached where his hands had been, and between my thighs, I throbbed with a need I hated myself for.
The slam of that door had saved me. Or maybe it had ruined me.
I pressed my palm to my face, dragging in a shaky breath. What the hell was I doing? This wasn't a game. This wasn't some dirty fantasy I could brush off. Adrian wasn't just some guy. He was off-limits. Forbidden in every way.
And yet, I had let him touch me. Worse, I had wanted him to.
My legs trembled as I pushed off the counter, nearly stumbling as I made my way upstairs. I shut my bedroom door, leaning back against it, the same way I had the night before. Déjà vu, but this time the fire inside me was even hotter, even harder to smother.
I peeled off my tank top, desperate for cool air, but the second my bare skin hit the sheets, the memories flooded back. His mouth at my throat. His hand up my shirt. His body grinding into mine.
My thighs pressed together, instinctive, needy.
No. Stop thinking about it.
I buried my face in my pillow, forcing myself to breathe, to calm down. But the more I fought it, the worse it got. My body ached like he'd left me half undone, like only he could finish what he started.
God, I hated him for that.
A sharp buzz from my nightstand jolted me. My phone lit up.
Adrian.
My heart flipped painfully. My hand shook as I reached for it.
Still taste you on my tongue.
I sucked in a breath, my stomach tightening into a hard knot. My thumb hovered, trembling, but before I could decide whether to reply, another message came.
Next time, I won't stop.
A soft, strangled sound escaped me. I tossed the phone back on the bed like it was toxic, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I should block him. Delete him. Tell him to stay the hell away.
But instead, I curled into my sheets, clutching the blanket to my chest, every part of me still burning with the echo of his touch.
Because the truth was ugly and undeniable:
I didn't want him to stop.