Page 61 of Light My Fire Three Times
One step. Two. Then his body is right in front of mine, heat radiating off him like a furnace.
I stumble back, my shoulders hitting the wall with a soft thud. His arm comes up, braced beside my head, caging me in without touching.
My breath hitches. I should tell him to back up, to stop. I should push him away. But my body betrays me—skin prickling, pulse slamming, knees turning weak.
He leans closer, his face a storm of want and fury.
“You don’t get it,” he says again, rough, chest rising hard against mine. “You have no idea what it’s like walking around with this… this thing eating me alive every time you’re near.”
I swallow hard, words deserting me. All I can think about is the sheer size of him in my space, the way his breath ghosts over my cheek, the faint scrape of stubble when he turns his head.
And that’s when it hits me.
I’m turned on.
Not just a little. Not just a flutter. It’s a wave crashing through me, sharp and undeniable, scorching every nerve.
Shit.
I want him.
The realization is so violent, so sudden, it steals my voice.
My hands, traitorous, press against his chest. Not to shove him away, but to feel the hard muscle under my palms. To confirm he’s real. His heart pounds there, as frantic as mine.
“Leo…” I whisper, not even sure if it’s a warning or a plea.
His gaze drops to my mouth. And then he’s gone, no hesitation, no restraint, just raw need, his lips crashing onto mine as if he’s been holding back for years instead of weeks.
It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s desperate and furious and unbearably hot, every sharp word and glare and slammed cabinet detonating into this one reckless moment.
His mouth claims mine like he’s starving. He’s been holding himself back so long he can’t stand another second of it. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair,angling me closer, deeper, until I can barely breathe but don’t want to.
I make a sound, half gasp, half surrender, and he swallows it like it fuels him. His body presses flush to mine, pinning me to the wall, solid heat and coiled tension that makes my knees go weak.
And so help me, I kiss him back. My hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer like I’ve been waiting for this fight to burn down into something hotter, darker, inevitable.
The kiss deepens, teeth clashing, lips bruising, tongues tangling in a rhythm that’s combat and confession all at once. It’s messy and wild, the weeks of denial exploding into something that should feel wrong but feels too right to stop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Leo
DECEMBER 1ST
I don’t knowwhen I lost control of this.
Maybe it was the first night she laughed in the kitchen, barefoot on the hardwood. Or perhaps it was Karl, leaning back in his chair, saying it wasn’t serious with her. That one landed harder than I wanted to admit.
Didn’t matter. I kept telling myself it wasn’t a problem. That I could glare, slam a few cabinets, burn off the rest at the gym, and it would fade.
Except it didn’t. It just built up.
And now I’m kissing her.
Christ. I’m kissing Olivia.
It’s not careful. My mouth crashes into hers, rough and desperate. Every sharp word we’ve thrown at each other just caught fire. And the worst part? She kisses me back. Hard. She’s been waiting for this, too.
