Page 13 of Forsaken Oath

My body is a riot of sensation. Too much adrenaline, the sour curdling of dread, the flighty feeling of fear.

And now the slow, warm unfurling of lust.

It feels wrong to be turned on from a kiss in the middle of a life-threatening situation. But maybe that’s exactly the point. When the stakes are high enough, it strips away all the bullshit.

And what you’re left with is the base model. The version of you that’s stripped bare, your desires and fears left open and raw at the surface.

And somehow, this stranger—this fuck-hot man with his tattooed arms and dimpled smile—is tapping into every single one of those exposed nerve endings. Every swipe of his tongue, every brush of his lips against mine, sends sparks skittering under my skin. It’s electric, magnetic, and I can’t get enough.

He tastes like spearmint and forbidden promises.

His kiss is confident, commanding, like he’s determined to make me forget about everything except the slide of his lips against mine. One of his hands is still cupping the back of my neck while the other finds my hip, his fingers digging in just enough to send a thrill zipping through me. He holds me as close as he can in this cramped space, and I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palm. It’s grounding, soothing almost, a counterpoint to the chaos reigning.

The lights flicker once, twice, before flooding the diner in a warm glow once more. We break apart, both of us blinking at the sudden brightness.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. His blue eyes look like the color of midnight, pupils blown wide with desire as he devours me with his gaze.

My lungs expand with a satisfied breath when I brush my fingertips across his kiss-swollen bottom lip.

“The power’s back,” I murmur, my gaze focused on the way his lips purse against the pad of my finger. Like a kiss.

“Seems like it,” he confirms, voice low. His gaze never leaves mine, focused on me with a kind of predatory attention.

I’m surprised to find I don’t hate it.

Sound filters back in slowly, like cotton is being pulled from my ears. The frantic, relieved chatter of people, chairs scraping against the floor as people climb out from under the tables and booths.

But most noticeable is what’s missing: the eerie wail of the tornado siren. The violent howling of the wind is gone, leaving an almost unnatural stillness in its wake. It’s as if the world is collectively exhaling, the tension bleeding out into the ground.

We stay there for a few moments longer, our gazes still locked, neither of us moving. The world around us starts to move again, but under this table, in our little bubble, time stretches out like taffy.

Slowly, reluctantly, he slides his hand from the back of my neck, his fingertips dragging along my skin and raising goosebumps in their wake. I feel the loss of his touch acutely, a strange sense of bereavement for something I didn't even know I wanted until a few minutes ago.

I take it as a sign to get the hell out of here. I crawl out from underneath the table, pushing to stand just as he stands next to me.

The diner is a flurry of activity, voices raised in relieved laughter as people embrace. But I barely register any of it, my attention wholly captured by the man beside me. He seems equally transfixed, his gaze never wavering from mine.

I smooth my hands over my clothes, trying to straighten them out and regain some semblance of composure. My heart is still racing, and I can feel the heat of his gaze on me like a tangible caress.

I shuffle toward him a step, my mouth tipping up in a half-smile. “We didn’t die.”

“We didn’t die,” he confirms, brows low over his eyes as he watches me.

“Thanks.” I nod toward the booth next to us.

He smirks, one dimple flashing. “For kissing you out of a panic-spiral? You don’t need to thank me for that.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he leans in, lips brushing against my ear as he murmurs the next words.

"Have dessert with me, Peach."

It’s not a question.

And even though I know I shouldn’t—this is reckless and impulsive—I nod, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face.

Thirty minutesand a wellness check on our vehicles later, we're back inside the diner, seated in the same booth from earlier. The adrenaline is wearing off now, leaving behind a strange mix of giddiness and exhaustion in its wake.

I prop my elbows on the table, resting my chin in my hands as I study him across from me. He looks just as good in the bright lights of the diner as he did in the darkness. All broadshoulders, tattooed forearms, and an easy confidence that seems to radiate off him.

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