The tension between us had been unbearable all weekend.
Not the quiet, peaceful kind the kind that made my heart pound, my palms sweat, and every glance feel like fire.
Jace hadn't left his room, and I barely left mine. Every time we passed in the hallway, our eyes met for just a second, and it was enough to make me shiver.
By Monday morning, the whole house felt like a trap.
Mom was humming in the kitchen, Dad buried in emails, and Jace was at the table with a scowl that could have cut glass. He barely looked at me, but I could feel his stare burning into my back like a brand.
I sat down opposite him, trying to act casual. But the air between us was thick, electric.
Finally, he spoke. Low. Rough. "We can't keep doing this… and pretending it's nothing."
I swallowed hard. "Then what are we supposed to do?"
He leaned forward, eyes dark, every muscle in his body tense. "We stop pretending we don't want each other. We stop pretending it's safe."
My chest tightened. "It's not safe."
"No. It's not. But it feels… right. With you."
I felt my breath catch. My pulse raced, not from fear, but from him.
He reached across the table, fingers brushing mine lightly. Electricity sparked where our skin met. Just a touch and I wanted more.
"Every time I see you," he whispered, voice barely audible over the ticking clock, "I feel like I'm about to lose my mind. And I can't… I can't hold back anymore."
I couldn't look away. I didn't want to.
He leaned closer. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek, close enough that my heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it.
"You're mine," he murmured. "Even if the world thinks it's wrong."
I swallowed. "And you're mine."
That simple confession made the air between us even heavier. Closer.
He slid his hand from mine, up my arm, lingering near my shoulder — teasing, testing, making sure I was still there, still willing.
"I shouldn't… I can't," he said, shaking his head. "But I don't want to stop."
"Then don't." I whispered it back, my voice shaking, my stomach twisting in anticipation, longing, and danger all at once.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine in a kiss that wasn't fully closed teasing, bold, and full of desire. My lips parted instinctively, craving the warmth and the closeness I'd been denying myself.
We broke apart, gasping slightly, foreheads pressed together. The world around us didn't exist anymore just the two of us, the heat between us, and the knowledge that we were crossing a line we could never uncross.
"I'm going to stop," I breathed, shaking my head. "I can't… I can't handle how much I want you."
He smiled faintly, that crooked, dangerous smile that always made my knees weak. "Then I'll take it slow. Just… like this."
And he pulled me closer, arms around me, holding me so tight I could feel his heartbeat matching mine. We stayed like that, pressed together, feeling the danger, the thrill, the forbidden nature of it all.
Every brush of his hand, every whisper, every stolen kiss made it impossible to think about anything else.
Even if someone found out. Even if the world ended.
I didn't care.
Because in that moment, I was his. And he was mine.
And nothing not rumors, not threats, not secrets could ever take that away.