Page 58 of Fractured Allegiance

We're tangled now. Breathing into each other. Her back pressed to the counter, the robe sliding open more, my shirt half off. Her hands map the planes of my chest like she's memorizing me, like she's afraid this moment will vanish if she doesn't hold tight enough.

I kiss the corner of her mouth. Her jaw. That spot just below her ear that makes her gasp. She tastes like want and whiskey and something I don't have a name for—something that feels like falling and flying at the same time.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, pulling me closer, and we're seconds away—

And then she freezes.

Not recoils.

Not startles.

Just… stills.

Like a thread snapped somewhere inside her.

I stop moving.

Her hands are still on me. But they're not pulling anymore.

Her mouth hovers near mine, our foreheads almost touching.

I can feel her pulse through her fingertips—rabbit-fast, erratic.

Then she whispers, so low I almost miss it—

"We need to stop. If we do this… it won't mean nothing."

I don’t speak.

Because she’s right.

Her hands fall away from my skin, trembling just enough to be human.

She steps back.

Not far. Just enough to put air between us. Just enough to let the moment collapse without shattering.

She looks at me, flushed, chest rising, pupils wide. Devastated and starving.

“I’m not ready,” she says.

My throat works, but words won’t form right away. I reach up and fix the strap of her robe, sliding it back over her shoulder like it’s sacred now.

“I would’ve stayed,” I say.

“I know.”

Neither of us moves for a long time.

Then she crosses her arms over her chest and turns away—back toward the kitchen.

This time, it feels like retreat.

I do the only thing I know to do: I gather the lull, fold it around me like a coat, and walk to the door.

She doesn’t try to stop me.

She doesn’t need to.