Page 66 of Second Sin

I nod too quickly. “Yeah.” I swallow. "I don't know."

Two long strides, and he's pulling me into his arms.I stiffen, just for a moment. But when his hand rests on my cheek, forcing me to look at him—I melt.

"I'll make this right," he says.

My heart cracks a little. Because I know he means it. But there’s no version of this that ends clean. And I’m not ready to tell him what that means. Not yet.

So I say nothing.

He leans in, mouth brushing mine. Soft at first. Just breath and warmth and the taste of something unspoken. Then deeper. Slower. Like he’s trying to memorize me. Like he knows he might not get another chance.

His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me in place as his lips move against mine—unrushed, aching.

And it undoes me.

It’s not just the kiss. It’s how he gives it. Like he means it. Like he’s holding on with both hands and praying I’ll hold back.

His mouth is soft but certain, coaxing rather than demanding. His thumb brushes my jaw, his body close enough to make me forget everything that matters.

And for a second, I let him.

Let myself sink into it. Into him.

Because I want this. God, I want this.

But it doesn’t change anything.

Wanting him doesn’t fix what we’ve broken. Doesn’t erase the line I crossed. Doesn’t make the fallout any less real.

When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless—lips tingling, chest tight, heart stumbling over itself.

But the weight of it presses in fast.

Too fast.

I step back—just enough to breathe, to think, to put space between us.

“We’re going to be late for our flight,” I say, voice barely more than a whisper.

He watches me for a beat, jaw tight. Then drags a hand through his hair, slow and frustrated, like he’s trying to steady himself. Like he’s swallowing whatever he wants to say.

He nods once. Short. Resigned.

Then in the same breath, he pulls on his hoodie, steps toward the door, and opens it?—

—and there’s Harper.

Two coffees in hand.

Her brows lift, eyes flicking between us as a knowing smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“Well. Good morning,” she says, voice light—curious, not unkind.

Sebastian hesitates, caught in the doorway.

“I was just—uh,” he stammers, clearing his throat. “We needed to talk. About…something.”

It’s a terrible lie.

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