Josie
I shut the door behind with a soft click, leaning my back against it as though the wood might absorb the whirlwind inside my head. My chest rose and fell, the weight of everything pressing down on —Michelle’s shadow over my family, the constant battles that drained , the gnawing thought that maybe, just maybe, I was losing myself while trying to protect everyone else.
I stripped out of my clothes, my fingers fumbling more from agitation than from any real need to undress quickly. My body was bare, but my thoughts were louder than the silence of the room. They sward and crashed like waves against rocks, relentless, refusing to quiet.
I needed help. That much was clear. No matter how hard I fought Michelle, she always seed to find another way in, another way to claw her hold into my family. And I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her destroy what I’d built, what I loved.
My lips pressed together as a decision solidified in my mind. I’ll ask Liam.
He had the power, the resources, the reach I didn’t. I hated admitting I couldn’t do it alone, but this wasn’t about pride anymore. This was about survival—mine and my family’s.
I slipped into a simple robe, tying the belt firmly around my waist, grounding myself in the decision. My pulse steadied a little, the clarity helping breathe. I pulled open the door to leave, only to collide with a wall—no, not a wall, a man.
Thorne.
His scent hit first—whiskey laced with the familiar musk that was entirely him. His eyes were unfocused but still burning with that intensity I could never na. His hair was slightly disheveled, his jaw clenched as if he was fighting sothing invisible.
"Thorne?" I asked, startled, my hands instinctively bracing against his chest. "What the hell—are you drunk?"
His lips parted, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned down, and before I could even process, his mouth was on mine.
My breath hitched.
I froze. His lips were hot, demanding, tasting faintly of alcohol but more of him—raw and unrestrained. I pushed at his chest, but his hands caught my waist, holding in place as though letting go would an losing sothing vital.
"Thorne—" I gasped, but he only pressed harder, devouring the space between us.
Heat flared through in ways I didn’t want to admit. My mind scread to pull away, but my body betrayed , trembling under the fire of his touch.
Finally, I managed to break the kiss, panting, my lips swollen. "Stop—what are you doing?!"
His eyes locked on mine, glassy yet sharp. His voice cracked with sothing that wasn’t just drunken slur, but emotion. "You’re the best damn thing in my life."
I stilled, my heart hamring against my ribs. For a mont, I wanted to believe he wasn’t talking to —that maybe he was seeing soone else in his haze, so ghost of his past.
But then he said it.
"Josie."
My na. Clear. Grounded.
It landed like lightning in my chest.
He guided backward, gently but insistently, until the back of my legs brushed against a chair. He urged to sit, his hands steady despite the alcohol. His thumb grazed my cheek, the caress slow, reverent, almost worshipful.
"I love the way you make feel," he murmured, his gaze locked on as though I was his anchor. "You make forget everything else. You make believe I deserve...sothing. You deserve it all, Josie—all the love in this world. Because you fucking deserve it."
My throat tightened. I didn’t say anything. I just let him talk, the words slicing into , heating , unraveling .
But silence wasn’t safety. Silence was dangerous.
"I need to go," I whispered finally, my voice shaking. "You’re making get into my feelings, Thorne."
His brows pulled together, hurt flashing across his face. "You don’t love ?"
The question speared through .
Sothing in snapped. "You only beco weak for when you’re drunk enough to want to kiss or hold !" My voice rose, harsh, trembling. "How long am I supposed to play this ga with you, Thorne? Tell —how long?"
His grip tightened on my waist, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind he wasn’t letting this go. His tone was rough, guttural. "It’s not a ga. Don’t you dare call it that."
I shook my head, anger and arousal colliding in a way that made dizzy.
"It’s not a bad thing if I want you," he pressed, his words fierce, almost desperate. "I crave you daily, Josie—like a madman. Your lips, your touch. It drives insane." His forehead pressed against mine, his breath hot against my skin. "The least you could do is understand that. The least you could do is love back."
I blinked hard, disbelief flooding . My pulse thundered in my ears.
"You don’t an that," I muttered, shaking my head.
"I an every fucking word."
"Thorne—" I bit my lip, trying to regain so control. "It’s late. You need to go to bed before you regret any of this in the morning."
His smirk curved, though it wasn’t playful—it was wounded, raw. "What if I don’t want to go to my bed?"
I stiffened. "That’s not funny."
"I wasn’t joking." His hand slid lower, brushing against my side until it found its way up to cup my breast through the thin fabric of my robe. His palm was hot, his touch needy, almost shaking with restraint.
My breath caught, my body betraying with a sharp pulse of arousal that coiled low in my stomach. My eyes fluttered shut for half a second, and when I opened them, he was watching , his hunger so palpable it nearly undid .
I tried to steady myself, tried to breathe. Don’t give in. Don’t lose yourself.
"Thorne," I whispered, forcing the words through the haze of heat. "You need to get up. Right now."
His lips brushed against my jaw, his voice muffled but burning. "Why do you think I’d regret it? What makes you so sure?"
My hands trembled as I pushed at his chest weakly, torn between wanting him closer and shoving him away. "Because I know you," I snapped, more harshly than I intended. "And that’s why."
The words hung between us, jagged and heavy.
I was trembling—half from fury, half from the ache he’d awakened inside . My body scread to give in, to let him take , but my heart and my head fought to drag back to reason.
This was dangerous. Too dangerous.
But God help , I wanted him.
And that terrified more than anything.
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