Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Yes,” he growls. It’s absurdly hot, the way he says it.
“But why?” I press. “You’re the one with the bat-proof muscles.”
His gaze darkens. “Because one of these days… you’re going to push the wrong button. And it’s going to be my fault if I let you keep doing it.”
“Maybe I know where all the buttons are,” I say, voice low. “Maybe that’s why you’re scared.”
We stare at each other.
The lamp hums softly.
The forest sings outside.
And inside, the tension goes from a simmer to a crackling, electric boil.
I shift again, and this time I don’t pretend it’s accidental. I turn and kneel so I’m facing him, hands on the couch cushion near his hip for balance.
We’re close now.
His breath fans across my cheek.
I can see every fleck of color in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate, the way his chest rises and falls a little faster.
“Knight,” I whisper.
His hand flexes above the blanket, like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching for me. “Lark,” he says warningly.
“What if…” My voice trembles, but I push through it. “What if we didn’t fight it just once?”
His jaw clenches. “That’s not how this works,” he says. “There’s no ‘just once’ with this. With you.”
I smile faintly. “You keep saying you won’t touch me. But you keep telling me exactly how much you want to.”
His breath hitches. He drops his gaze to my mouth again, then squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to shut out the image. “Don’t,” he says.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you trust me with your heart.”
My own heart stutters. “I do,” I say simply.
His eyes fly open. “You shouldn’t,” he says. “I’m not—”
“Good? Worthy? Clean?” I cut in softly. “Knight, I’ve seen what you do when no one’s watching. I’ve seen you track men who hurt people and make sure they can’t do it again. I’ve seen you stay up all night to patch vulnerabilities so strangers don’t get hurt. I’ve seen you risk yourself to protect me, over and over, without asking for anything.”
I swallow.
“So yeah. I trust you. With my heart. With my life. With all the parts of me that are too sharp for someone softer.”
His throat works.
He looks wrecked.
Wrecked and beautiful and so damn tired of fighting everything alone.
His voice comes out low and hoarse. “You deserve more than a guy who spends his nights breaking into servers and his days lying to his friends about how fine he is. You deserve someone who isn’t being hunted by half the dark web.”
“Funny,” I say. “Because the guy I want is right here.”
We’re breathing the same air now.
I’ve edged closer without realizing it. Or maybe I did realize it and decided not to stop. My knees are pressed into the couch cushion. My hands are braced on either side of his thigh. His hand is gripping the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted.
“Lark,” he says again, but this time it sounds like a prayer.
Or a warning.
Or both.
I tilt my head. “If you really don’t want this… tell me. Right now. And I’ll back off. I’ll go back to my room, I’ll stay in my lane, I’ll just be the annoying little sister of your best friend who hacks your life for fun.”
His eyes search mine.
It feels like he’s looking for a trap.
There isn’t one.
Just me.
Just this.
Just years of held breath finally exhaled.
“I can’t promise I won’t want you,” I whisper. “I can’t promise I won’t still push your buttons. But I can walk away from this moment. If that’s what you really want.”
The silence stretches.
My pulse thunders in my ears.
His lips part. He inhales, slow, like he’s drawing in the last clean breath before a dive. “I don’t want you to walk away,” he says.
The words hit me like a physical thing and warmth floods my chest.
He still doesn’t move.
Doesn’t close the distance.
Doesn’t pull me in.
Because of course he doesn’t.
He’s Knight.
He’ll break his own bones before he risks breaking mine.
So I move instead.
Slowly.
Carefully.
I lean in, my nose brushing his, our mouths hovering a breath apart.
“Then stop fighting me,” I whisper.
His control snaps.
Just a little.
His hand leaves the blanket, cupping the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. The touch is firm and gentle at the same time, like he’s terrified I’ll vanish if he holds on too tight.
He doesn’t pull me in.
He lets me choose it.
So I do.
I close the last inch and press my mouth to his.
The kiss is soft at first.
Tentative.
Barely there.
Like we’re both afraid to spook it.
Then he exhales against my lips, a low, rough sound, and his other hand finds my waist, fingers sinking into my skin.
The kiss deepens.
Sparks explode behind my eyes. Heat licks through me, coiling low and tight. The world narrows to the slide of his mouth, the way he tastes—coffee, mint, and something dark and unmistakably him—and the low rumble in his chest that sounds like he’s been waiting for this as long as I have.