Page 40 of Click of Fate

I cradle her face in my hands and kiss her—this time with care. She melts into it, fingers resting on my chest like they’ve always belonged there.

“Trouble,” I whisper against her mouth.

She smiles, a little breathless now. “Don’t start with the names.”

“Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”

Our clothes come off one piece at a time. Her laughter softens into sighs. Her mouth finds my shoulder and mine finds the curve of her spine. There’s nothing frantic this time, no need to get lost.

Just the need to stay here.

When all our clothes are gone, she lets me look at her.

Reallylook at her.

She doesn’t cover herself. Doesn’t crack a joke or retreat. She allows the quiet to linger between us.

She’s beautiful in the way people only are when they stop pretending they’re not scared. Even if just for a second.

I run my fingers down her back, slow and steady, and she closes her eyes like the world stops when I touch her.

She shifts—easing me back onto the bed, knees bracketing my hips as her hair falls around us like a curtain. Her mouth finds mine again, and it’s all heat anchored by something quieter underneath. Something neither of us dares to name.

I reach for the drawer beside the bed and fumble for a second before my hand closes around what I’m looking for.

A condom.

She pulls back just enough to watch me open it, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Prepared, huh?” she asks.

“Always.”

She leans in, brushing her mouth over mine. “Good.”

The teasing doesn’t last. It dissolves the moment our skin meets again.

We move together, like we’ve already done this a dozen times. Like our bodies remember what our heads keep trying to deny. Every shift, every gasp, every lingering touch is familiar in a way that shouldn’t make sense—but does.

Her name slips from my mouth more than once, softly, like a prayer.

And when she says mine, it’s not sharp or sarcastic.

It’s real.

It’s deeper this time.

Less urgent.

More honest.

We move together like we already know how this ends—even if we don’t. Even if we’re still pretending, it doesn’t matter.

After, she rests her head against my chest, her fingertips dragging lightly across my skin like she’s writing something she won’t say out loud.

I want to ask if she’s staying this time.

But I don’t.

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