Page 56 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

"Willow—"

"Vincent." I narrow my eyes, feeling months of pent-up anger and fear breaking through the surface. "You were gone for two months after I got major surgery."

"You didn't let me see you for two months when your heart was failing and you could have died at any moment." His voice drops to a dangerous growl, nostrils flaring as he steps closer, placing his hands on either side of me on the counter, caging me in. The scent of sandalwood and leather fills my senses.

His eyes, usually warm ocean blue, now burn with icy intensity. "Do you have any idea what that did to me?" His voice breaks slightly. "To know you were slipping away and not even being allowed to say goodbye?"

The air between us crackles. I can feel his breath against my face, see the muscle working in his jaw as he struggles to contain his emotions.

"I didn't want you to watch me die," I whisper, voice cracking. My fingers grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white. "I couldn't bear the thought of you seeing me like that—wasting away, tubes everywhere, barely conscious most days."

Vincent's eyes flash dangerously. He leans in until our foreheads nearly touch, his voice a ragged whisper. "Who said that was ever your choice?"

The words hit me like a physical blow.

"I had every right—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"No." His hand cups my cheek, forcing me to look at him. "No, you didn't. Not when it comes to us." His thumb brushes away a tear I didn't know had fallen. "You don't get to decide how much of you I'm allowed to love."

Something inside me cracks. The walls I've carefully constructed crumble beneath the weight of his gaze.

"I was terrified," I admit, my voice barely audible. "Not of dying, but of leaving you with that memory. Of becoming someone you pitied instead of?—"

"Instead of what?" His voice softens, though the intensity in his eyes remains.

"Instead of someone you desired." The admission burns on its way out, a shameful truth I've been hiding even from myself.

Vincent's expression shifts, surprise giving way to something darker, hungrier. His hand slides from my cheek to the nape of my neck, fingerstangling in my hair.

"Look at me," he demands, and I do. "I have wanted you every single day since we met. When you were healthy. When you were sick. When you shut me out and broke my heart. Even now, when I'm furious with you—" His grip tightens, not painfully, but possessively. "I want you so much it's driving me insane."

My breathing quickens as his other hand finds my waist, thumb brushing the strip of exposed skin between my tank top and shorts.

"Vincent—"

"I thought I was going to lose you without ever getting to say goodbye," he continues, voice rough with emotion. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? What it still does to me every time I wake up and reach for you, terrified because you’re not there?

I can't speak, can't think past the overwhelming heat of him so close to me. My hands, acting of their own accord, rest against his chest. His heart hammers beneath my palm, a mirror to my own racing pulse.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, meaning it more than I've ever meant anything. "I was trying to protect you."

"I don't need your protection," he says fiercely. "I need you. All of you. The good and the bad. The healthy and the sick. I need to be allowed to love you through all of it."

The last of my resistance melts away. I slide my hands up to his shoulders, then to either side of his face.

"Then love me now," I whisper against his lips.

His response is immediate and consuming. His mouth crashes against mine, hungry and desperate, as if he's been holdinghimself back for far too long. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as his hands grip my hips.

The kiss is a wildfire, burning away every rational thought, every fear, every memory of the time we spent apart. I can't breathe, don’twantto breathe, not when his lips are on mine, his tongue claiming me with a possessive urgency that makes my body ache. Not when he’s pressing into me, his body hard and unyielding against my softness. His hands slide down to my thighs.

“Vincent,” I gasp, breaking the kiss only for a moment. His name is a plea, a prayer, a promise.

“I’ve got you,” he growls, his voice rough with need. His hands tug at the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head in one swift motion. The air is cool against my skin, but his hands are warmer, trailing up my sides, his thumbs grazing the curves of my breasts. I arch into his touch, my breath hitching as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of my neck.

“God, I missed you,” he murmurs against my throat, his teeth grazing my pulse point.

“I missed you too,” I whisper, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Every damn day.”

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