Page 52 of Heartstruck

Alli

We move in sync, quietly sneaking up the stairs. His house is silent and empty, and the door barely clicks shut before his lips slam into mine again.

“Where’s everyone?”

“Don’t care.” He growls. His hands slide over my back, strong but careful, like he’s trying to pull me closer without breaking me. And I feel it too, that fear, that longing, like I might disappear at the snap of his fingers if he lets go.

I disconnect to catch my breath, but before I can, he’s kissing me again, deeper this time. When we finally separate, we’re both breathless, leaning into each other for support, foreheads pressed together.

“Alli,” he says, his grip tightening like he’s afraid I’ll run. His eyes bore into mine, intense and unyielding. “This isn’t just about wanting you. I’m not walking away this time.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, my hand tracing the line of his jaw.

“No games.” His lips hover over mine, barely touching, just enough to make me swallow all pride and fear. “No overthinking.”

“No games.” Without another word, he pulls me closer, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist, his lips grazing the curve of my neck.

I let out a hum, quieter than I meant. He pauses, his eyes scanning me like he’s making sure.

“You good?” He leans in slightly.

I massage his shoulders, nodding. “Are you?”

His gaze is unwavering. When he speaks, it’s full of determination. “I’m done running, Castillo.”

The vulnerability in his words is both a promise and a confession, and it hits me all at once. There’s nothing left to hide.

I kiss him again, slower this time, like we’re both trying to make up for lost time. Devilish laughs spill from us, spiking the pleasure as we stumble toward his bedroom. Each touch, each kiss, is deliberate—too loaded with meaning to rush.

He undresses me with an almost maddening slowness, his gaze holding mine, memorizing every inch of my skin.

The way he looks at me… like he can’t get enough.

I pull his shirt off, fingers fumbling slightly with the hem of his pants, but it’s okay.

His hands are steady, following my movements, like he’s waiting for the perfect moment.

His fingers hook into the waistband of my leggings, yanking them down as I work on his. We’re desperate now—reckless. He pushes me onto the bed, his body pressing into mine, and I arch into him without thinking, like I’ve been waiting for this all along.

He moves over me with assurance, hands roaming, leaving me breathless. My nerves tingle with every inch of skin he touches, claiming me in ways he hasn’t already. This feels different: more intense, more real.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at me, searching my face as if checking for permission, for assurance that this isn’t his imagination playing with him.

I pull him closer, fingers grazing his back when he presses into me.

“Please,” I whisper, my grip tightening.

He picks up the pace, our bodies moving together, hot and desperate. Each thrust pulls me deeper, and my vision fades to black when the orgasm races through us, leaving me speechless as fuck.

We collapse, our hands still tangled, hearts racing to catch up. My free hand settles on his chest as we both heave.

“You good?” His voice sounds sweet like honey.

I press a kiss to his chest, letting my lips stay there, feeling the heat of his skin. “Yeah.”

His hand moves up and down my back, hesitant, almost like he’s afraid to touch me too much, to push too far. I shift, propping myself up until our faces are level.

“I want this. All of it. With you.”