Page 25 of Heartstruck

Alli

Jared’s knee brushes mine, and it’s ridiculous how something that insignificant feels like a lightning strike straight through me. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. I shouldn’t want this, not when I know how hurt I could get.

But the way his gaze drops to my lips, dark and intense, destroys any chance of rational thought.

I tell myself to focus, to breathe, to remember why this is a bad idea, but every coherent thought vanishes the second his fingers graze mine. It’s not even intentional, just a casual shift, but the contact sears, the kind of thing that doesn’t go unnoticed.

He looks at me then, and I’m gone. His gaze is heavy and impossible to read, but it sends unbearable need to my stomach. My chest constricts, and I don’t know if it’s nerves, want, or a deadly combination of both, but my body isn’t waiting for clarification.

“I keep thinking about you,” he says faintly. His thumb traces along my jaw, sending a ripple of awareness through me.

I inhale sharply, words slipping free before I can catch them. “Same.”

Jared’s gaze sharpens, his lips parting as he stares at me with intense focus.

Without breaking eye contact, he leans in closer, and I know what’s coming.

His lips brush against mine, slow and teasing, just enough to leave me wanting more, like he’s daring me to close the distance.

But there’s no turning back. The moment his kiss deepens, something inside me ignites, like a match thrown into dry wood.

I move into him without thinking, my hands clutching the fabric of his shirt, needing to feel more of him, all of him. The kiss turns urgent, wild, like we’re both trying to catch up with our feelings, catch up with everything we’ve been holding back.

Jared pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his breath uneven, and it hits me how far we’ve gone, how close we are to falling over the edge.

“What are we doing?” I whisper, my voice unstable, caught somewhere between fear and wanting him.

He doesn’t answer right away. His thumb brushes my bottom lip, his eyes locked on mine, searching. “You tell me. Just say when, and I’ll stop.”

I take a shaky breath, and I try to rationalize it all. But all I can think, all I can feel, is how much I don’t want him to stop. Not now. Not when we’ve come this far.

I answer by closing the gap between us, my fingers knotting in his shirt as our mouths crash together again, erasing any doubt left between us.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper against his lips.

His hands slide down my sides, finding the curve of my hips, securing me to him, and the kiss feels like it’s everything—his hands, his body, the heat pooling between us. We’re lost in it. We’ve always been lost.

He pulls my shirt off in one seamless movement, his eyes on me. “You’re stunning,” he breathes, like he didn’t mean to let the words escape.

I can’t resist. My hands slip under his shirt, dragging it over his head, my fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest like I’m committing him to memory—every ridge, every muscle, every part of him that feels so damn real beneath my touch.

The kiss grows greedy and desperate, breaking only for a few breathy, guilty chuckles between us.

We press so close it feels like the rest of the world disappears—like there was never a before, and there won’t be an after.

His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me flush against him, the hunger between us spinning my head.

His lips ghost over my ear. “Be good for me?”

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to ignore the way my pulse stutters at the rough command. “You know I hate being told what to do.”

His grin curves against my neck, teasing. “Maybe you’ve just been waiting for someone worth listening to.”

My brain short-circuits.

Any rational thought I had? Gone. Just completely obliterated.

I yank at his jeans, impatience taking over, urgency spilling from every touch.

And then he’s inside me, stretching, filling, making me forget how to breathe.

My gasp turns into a whimper, his name slipping past my lips like a prayer.

He moves slowly at first, controlled, but there’s a dark edge to it, like he’s holding back something dangerous .

I don’t want him to hold back.

My nails dig into his back as he moves deeper, a low groan vibrating through his chest. His forehead presses against mine, sweat-slick skin locking us together. The tension coils tighter and tighter—until, suddenly, everything breaks apart.

My body breaks apart under his, pleasure crashing through me in dizzying waves, stealing every ounce of air from my lungs. His grip tightens as he follows, a rough, guttural sound tearing from his throat.

We collapse together, tangled, breathless, the world sloping back into place around us.

He lingers, his forehead resting against mine. Then his thumb brushes over my cheek, the softness of it almost jarring after what just happened.

“You good?” His voice is low, like he’s afraid to disturb the moment. But there’s something fragile there too, something real.

I nod, struggling to catch my breath, my hands still clutching at him like I need to hold on just a little longer. A slow, shaky smile tugs at my lips.

“Yeah,” I whisper, finally at peace. “I’m good.”