Page 66 of Our Darkest Summer

One breath.

Two…

I gripped the shifter, forcing my focus ahead.

“We should go.”

Chapter Thirty

Kinsley

“They don’t match,”I said, running down the stairs to the kitchen where Thomas was waiting. We had just gotten back from town, and my first trip was to the second floor to compare the notes. I slammed the crumpled papers down on the stone-topped island. “We were right. The handwriting isn’t the same. Someone else had lef?—”

“Stop.”

I froze. “What?”

Thomas was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. The dark window behind him yawned open like a void, swallowing the kitchen light. A cold shiver slid down my spine at the sight of the forest.

“Just stop,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost pleading.

I blinked, my lips parting, but whatever I was about to say died in my throat when his eyes met mine. Storm-dark, heavy, and distant. Not angry, more like…lost. Like he was drowning in his own head.

Without warning, he pushed himself away from the counter, closing the space between us.

His lips crashed against mine, and I gasped as his hands gripped my waist. He held onto me like I was the only solid thingleft in the world. Like he was trying to ground himself, searching for a way out of his own mind.

For me, he felt like fresh air, that first breath you take after breaking the surface of deep water. My thoughts disappeared along with the pulsing pain in my temples.

My back hit the cabinets, his body pressing into mine. The kiss wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It was urgent, messy, raw in the way only desperation could be. My fingers curled into his shirt, part of me wanting to push him away, to focus on the case, to think clearly. But the other part… God, I wanted to pull him even closer.

He turned us effortlessly, and suddenly, I was perched on the cold kitchen island, his body caging me in. My stomach fluttered. I locked my legs around his waist, my fingers twisting in his soft hair.

“Fuck,” he groaned, breaking our kiss, his breath ragged.

His cheeks were flushed, his chest rising and falling too fast. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he was trying to force himself to regain control. His head dropped forward, his breath warm against my collarbone.

“We have to stop.”

I swallowed, trying to find my voice. “Do we?” I whispered, because I wasn’t sure I could manage anything louder.

He exhaled, then slowly looked up at me, his eyes hazy. “I don’t know—” His fingers flexed at my waist. “If I would be able to after, if we continued right now.”

My mouth parted, aching for the warmth of his. “Then don’t,” I whispered in canon with my hammering heart.

My words barely had time to settle before he moved. His mouth collided with mine, harder this time. Hungrier.

His fingers dug into my waist, pulling me against him, his body slotted between my legs. His hands roamed over me, pushing under my shirt, dragging fire in their wake. My skinburned where he touched me, heat curling low in my stomach as his palms slid up my sides, his fingers ghosting the underside of my breasts.

A shaky gasp left me, and Thomas groaned in response. His lips trailed the line of my jaw, my throat, his breath hot against my skin. His hands gripped me like he was trying to memorize the feel of me. I arched against him, my fingers tangling in his hair.

“Fuck, Kinsley,” he rasped, sending a sharp, pleasurable jolt through me. I barely recognized the sound that left me in response. He lifted me slightly, his hands bracing against the counter as he pressed himself closer. There was nothing between us now. Nothing but heat, want, and the electricity crackling in the air.

Still, I could feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers flexed against my skin, holding back just barely.

But I didn’t want restraint. I didn’t want careful.

I wanted more.