Page 80 of Held-

“I know exactly who you are,” she says, rising onto her toes. “And I’m still choosing you.”

Her lips meet mine—soft, insistent, tasting faintly of tears. I freeze for a heartbeat, stunned by her courage, her certainty. Then I’m kissing her back, my hands framing her face with a care I didn’t know I had, holding her as though she’s something rare and fragile.

Which she isn't. She's proven that today and every day since I've known her.

She pulls back just enough to whisper against my lips, “Take me to bed.”

Those four words cut through the last of my rage, replacing it with a different kind of heat altogether. I search her face, looking for any sign of hesitation or fear.

“Are you sure that's what you need right now?”

She nods, her fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt. “Do you always question a woman wanting you to take her to bed, or is that reserved just for me?”

“Only for you, princess,”

The smile that curves her lips is small but genuine.

“Is that so bad?” she asks, her fingers anchored in my shirt as though the touch itself is what’s keeping me beside her.

“No,” I admit, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from her face. “But I need to know this isn't just about forgetting what happened. About using me to erase him.”

Her expression flashes—anger, maybe, or pure determination. “This isn’t about him. It’s aboutus.About what I want.”

Andfuck, I believe her. There’s no hesitation, no fear, just that same stubborn fire that’s been pulling me toward her since the beginning. I could drown in it and die happy.

“What you want,” I echo, my thumb brushing along the curve of her lower lip. “Tell me, Cece. Say it.”

She doesn’t blink, doesn’t falter. “I want you to take me to bed and make me forget everything except your name.”

That’s all it takes.

In one smooth motion, I scoop her up. Her legs wrap around my waist like she was made to fit there. Her lips find the side of my neck, trailing fire along my skin, and it takes every shred of control not to lose myself right there.

I ease her down gently, my hands unsteady for reasons I can’t quite name as I hover above her.

“You sure about this?” I ask one last time, giving her an out that part of me prays she won't take.

She answers by pulling me down to her, her mouth finding mine with a hunger that matches the storm raging inside me. Her kiss tastes like salvation and sin all at once—sweet and desperate and consuming. I lose myself in it, in her, letting her pull me under until the anger that's been burning through me transforms into something else entirely.

My hands find the hem of her shirt, sliding beneath to feel the warm skin of her stomach. She leans into my touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips when my fingers trace the underside of her breast. I want to worship every inch of her, to erase any memory of that bastard's hands with my own.

“Please,” she whispers against my mouth, and that one word undoes me.

I tug her shirt over her head, revealing the simple cotton bra beneath. Nothing fancy, nothing meant to seduce, and somehow that makes it all the more perfect. This isn't a show. It's just us, raw and real in this moment.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, trailing kisses along her collarbone. “So fucking beautiful.”

She shivers beneath me, her hands fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. I help her peel it off and toss it aside. When she touches me, her fingers tracing the outline of the raven on my shoulder.

“Brayden,” she whispers, and my name on her lips is like a fucking prayer.

I reach behind her, unhooking her bra. As it falls away, I take in the sight of her—skin flushed pink, nipples hardening under my gaze, eyes bright with want and something deeper. Themarks on her wrists stand out against her pale skin, and I feel that rage threatening to resurface.

I push it down, focusing on her instead. On this. On us.

“What do you need?” I ask again, needing to hear it.

Her hand slides up my chest to cup my face, thumb stroking over my stubbled jaw. “You,” she says simply. “Just you.”