We promised it was the last time.
The last late night.
The last stolen kiss.
The last time he'd sneak into my bed and make me forget who we were supposed to be.
But promises made between tangled sheets and desperate moans mean nothing in daylight.
And nothing to people like us.
Because the next night, he came back.
This time, he didn't knock.
He walked straight in, locked the door behind him, and kissed me like the silence had been killing him.
"You're not sleeping," he whispered, pulling the blanket from my legs.
"Neither are you."
He pulled his shirt off. I didn't even try to resist.
"Tell me to leave," he said again, already pushing my nightshirt up.
"Lie to me," I whispered. "Tell me this isn't a disaster."
He smirked. "It's a beautiful disaster."
He pressed me into the bed, and I gasped as he slid inside me in one smooth, deep thrust.
No words. No teasing. Just raw, slow thrusts that made me cry out against his shoulder. My nails dragged down his back, and he groaned into my neck.
"Quiet," he said. "They're still awake."
That only made it hotter.
I kissed him like I hated him for being so good.
He fucked me like he hated himself for not stopping.
Our bodies moved together in total silence but our breathing, our trembling, our heat? That was deafening.
He pinned my wrists above my head. His thrusts went deeper. Slower. Harder.
"You love this," he said. "The risk. The wrongness."
I moaned, arching up to meet him.
"Say it," he whispered.
"I love it."
"Say you're mine."
"I'm yours."
"Say it louder."
"Jace"
A loud knock cut through the heat like a knife.
We froze.
The sound came again harder this time.
Then a voice.
My mom's.
"Sweetheart? You okay in there?"
My blood ran cold.
Jace didn't move—still inside me, still breathing heavy.
"Yeah," I called out, trying to sound normal. "I just… knocked over something."
A pause.
Then: "Okay. Don't stay up too late."
We waited.
Ten seconds. Twenty.
Then the sound of retreating footsteps.
Jace let out a low groan, forehead against mine.
"We're insane," I whispered.
He kissed me again. "That's why it's so good."
And then he finished what he started.
Harder. Rougher. Like the interruption only made him more desperate.
He made me come again—biting his shoulder, holding back the scream.
And when he followed, gasping my name, I knew we weren't just playing with fire.
We *were* the fire.
The Next Morning
I woke up alone.
Again.
The room was cold without him.
I ran my fingers over the pillow he used, still smelling faintly like him, still creased where his head had been.
There were no texts. No notes.
Nothing.
Except the ache between my legs.
And a faint bruise on my wrist where he'd pinned me.
I didn't cover it.
I wanted to remember.
But by noon, something changed.
Jace wouldn't look at me.
At breakfast, he barely spoke. At lunch, he disappeared.
By 4 p.m., he still hadn't said a word.
I found him in the garage, punching the heavy bag his stepdad had hung years ago and forgotten about.
His knuckles were raw.
"Talk to me," I said, standing in the doorway.
He didn't turn around.
"You're icing me out," I added.
Still nothing.
"What did I do, Jace?"
He stopped. Turned slowly.
His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a mess, chest heaving with each breath.
"You didn't do anything," he said flatly.
"Then what is this?"
He looked at me like he hated himself.
"I think someone knows."
My heart stuttered. "What?"
"I found my phone in the laundry room this morning. Someone went through it."
"Who?"
"I don't know. But there was a text open," Jace said, voice low. "From you. From the night we…"
He didn't have to finish.
My blood turned to ice. "What did it say?"
He looked at me. "Just your name. But it was timestamped at 2:13 a.m."
Last night.
Right after he left my bed.
"What if someone put the pieces together?" he whispered. "What if someone saw me coming out of your room?"
I backed up, pressing a hand to my mouth. "You don't think it was my mom?"
"No," he said quickly. "If it was, we wouldn't be standing here. She'd be screaming, packing bags, calling a therapist or the cops."
"Then who?"
He didn't answer. Just stared down at his bleeding knuckles.
"Jace…" I walked over and took his hands in mine. "We have to be careful. From now on."
He looked up, eyes wild. "No. We have to stop."
I flinched like he slapped me.
He pulled his hands away. "We've been playing with this like it's a game. Like we're the only ones in the world. But we're not. Someone saw something, and now it's real. You and me? We're not just a secret anymore. We're a threat."
"To what?" I whispered. "To them? Or to you?"
He turned his back on me. "To everything."
Silence stretched between us. Thick. Ugly.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I walked out.
Later that night
I told myself I was done crying over him.
That if he could pretend I didn't exist, so could I.
But I couldn't sleep.
Not with the weight of his silence, or the memory of his body, or the fact that someone somewhere knew.
And then came the knock.
Soft. Hesitant.
I didn't move.
Another knock. Louder.
Then his voice.
"Open the door."
I got up slowly.
When I opened it, Jace looked like hell. Eyes red. Hoodie pulled tight over his head. Hands shoved in his pockets like he was holding himself together.
"I didn't mean what I said."
"Yeah, you did."
He stepped inside, shut the door, and looked at me like I was the only air left in the world.
"I'm scared," he admitted. "Not of you. Of what I'll do if I lose you."
I swallowed hard.
"I'll stop sneaking in. I'll stop touching you in this house. I'll wait. I'll do whatever you want. But just say you're still mine."
I didn't answer.
I kissed him.
Long. Slow. Deep.
He kissed me back like he'd been dying for it.
"I'm still yours," I whispered.
He picked me up and laid me down on the bed, kissing every inch of me like this was the last time.
It wasn't fast.
It wasn't rough.
It wasn't about the risk anymore.
It was about us.
He slid into me like he belonged there, and I moaned his name against his mouth.
He made love to me.
That's what it was. Messy. Desperate. Addicted. But real.
And somewhere in the middle of the night, when his fingers laced with mine and his body rocked against mine slow and deep, I knew:
This wasn't just a secret.
It was a choice.
One we were going to keep making.
Even if it ruined everything.