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The crack splits open.
And I fall in.
“I used to wonder,” I whisper, “what my dad would say if he saw me like this. If he knew I was halfway in love with a man like you. A man who breaks the rules for a living but for the wrong team. Who might not make it out the way Mom didn’t.”
Dante doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
“I think if he pulled himself out of his misery long enough, he’d hate it,” I go on, soft and bitter. “And even if I told him I discovered I was wrong, that you were on my kind of righteous crusade, I think he’d still say I’m repeating history. My mom died chasing something she thought mattered. Maybe I’m doing the same.”
“He may be right about me, but you’re not her,” he says, low and fierce. “No,” I agree. “But I love like her. Fast. All in. Firewalls all the way down.”
I slide my hand over his knee, up his thigh, until my palm rests over his heart. His pulse is erratic beneath it. Strong. Real. Terrified.
“I know what this was supposed to be,” I whisper. “Thirty days. A game. Control and obedience.”
“Dahlia…”
“But it’s not that anymore, is it?”
He doesn’t answer. Because we both know the truth.
When his hands finally touch me, they tremble. His fingers trail over my waist, up my spine, then fist the back of my shirt as he pulls me forward into his lap.
Our mouths meet with a desperation we’ve been choking on for days.
This isn’t like the other times.
This is deeper. Slower. More savage in its softness.
His tongue slides against mine with reverence, like he’s memorizing every taste. His hands explore with reverent greed, pulling the shirt over my head, exposing me to firelight and his gaze.
“You’re still mine,” he growls, voice hoarse. “Even if it kills me.”
I straddle him. Cup his jaw. “Then show me.”
He lifts me effortlessly and lays me on the rug in front of the fire.
And he does.
He shows me how much he needs me—with every kiss, every thrust, every command whispered into my open mouth. He doesn’t fuck me like a dominant staking a claim.
He makes love to me like a man unraveling.
When I come, it’s with his name breaking on my lips and his body buried deep inside mine. My tears wet his cheek as he leans his forehead against mine.
“I want more than thirty days,” he whispers.
His hands clench on my hips.
“Then take it,” I say. “Take everything.”
We lie there, tangled in sweat and silence.
And for a moment, it feels like we’re not running anymore.
Just surviving. Together.
Dante