Page 164 of The Fall

He thinks—God, he actually thinks I’d want anyone else.

“Blair.”

His jaw works, muscles jumping under the skin, and his thumbs have stopped their maddening circles. He’s rigid against me, every line of him braced for impact.

“No. I wantyou, only you. I’ll wait as long as you need me to. There’s no one else I want.” My thumbs brush over his cheekbones, and his eyes flutter closed for a second before snapping back to mine. “There’s no one else. There hasn’t been anyone else since you.”

He breathes hard, each exhale shaky and uneven against my lips. His blues search mine, desperate, disbelieving. This is the look I’ll remember when he walks out tonight. This is the look I’ll spend forever sketching: his whole being caught on the edge of wonder, of hunger, of astonishment. This is the wild and terrifying edge of yes.

“Say it again.” The words are barely sound, more breath than voice.

“Only you.” I turn my face into his palm. “It’s only ever been you. There’s nobody else, and there never could be.”

The blue of his eyes darkens, storms gathering at sea. “Torey.” My name breaks apart in his mouth. “You have no idea what you—” He kisses me then, different from before. Slower. Surer. I lean into him, into the heat of his body and the certainty of his lips and let him take whatever he needs. When we break apart, he traces my bottom lip with his thumb and studies me with dark eyes that strip me bare.

I part my lips under his touch and catch the pad of his thumb with my teeth. His breath hitches. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he breathes. Then he exhales, long and slow. “I can’t fuck this up, Torey.”

“You won’t.”

He drags in air like he’s been underwater too long and finally came up. Then his lips trace the corner of my mouth, my cheekbone, the hinge of my jaw. “Torey...” His voice is raw silk, barely there. His chest rises against mine, that scent of coconut and lime and salt threading through my head. “Tell me what you need.”

“You.” My thumbs smooth over the inside of his wrists.

I angle up to kiss him again, lips and breath, a question and an answer. He answers all the way, opening, letting me taste him, letting me lead.

Heat curls under my skin. I breathe into him and he breathes back. He swears under his breath, barely a word, and I feel it within our kiss. His fingers flex at my hips, and then those hands slide up, under my shirt, warm palms on bare skin. Mine thread into the soft strands of his hair.

“Blair...”

He lowers his head to my neck and breathes me in, laying open-mouthed kisses on me as slow as a prayer. His next words are low enough only I could ever hear them: “I don’t know how not to fall for you.”

His confession sinks past bone and into the very center of me. “Fall,” I choke out. “I’ll catch you.”

He stills completely. The roaming of his hands halts. Every muscle in his body goes taut. For a long second, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he lifts his head. “I think you already have.”

And with that, he kisses me again. This kiss is different from all the others. His lips are firm and sure, moving over mine. There’s no hesitation now, no trembling uncertainty. He cups my face between his palms, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. It’s a kiss that draws a line in the sand between before and after. Before Blair, and with him.

When we part, he keeps his forehead near mine, our noses touching, and I feel the rapid thud of his heart where our chests meet.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

I am. My whole body quakes with aftershocks from what just happened, what’s still happening. “So are you.”

His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, then down my arms until our fingers tangle together. He brings our joined hands up between us. “This changes everything,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

His gaze lifts to mine, those blue eyes still dark with want but clearer now, more focused. “Are you okay with that?”

He’s asking about the team, about hockey, about what happens when we step out of this room and back into the world where we’re teammates first, where there are rules and expectations and a thousand reasons why this shouldn’t work.

“Yes.” The word comes without hesitation. “Are you?”

His grip on my hands tightens and he brings one of my hands to his lips. There’s no fear left in his eyes now. His mouth lingers against my knuckles. I nod.

His breath feathers my skin, then he lowers our hands but doesn’t let go, gaze moving over my face like he’s counting every freckle, every tell. The heat between us settles.

He draws a breath, and his hand slips down to catch mine, squeezing. “How’s your head?”