Josie
I thought I would burst into flas at the words Varen spoke. They were so raw, so searing, so filled with a tenderness I wasn’t prepared for, that my chest tightened painfully. His voice wasn’t raised, but every syllable carried weight.
"I’m tired of the fights, Josie," he said, his gaze searching mine as though afraid I might look away. "I want this—us—to be real. I don’t want to pressure you, I don’t want to break you. But when I ssed up the other day, it felt like a piece of my soul cracked. You’re that piece. You’re what’s holding together. Without you..." His words faltered, his throat working as he tried again. "Without you, I don’t even know where I’d be."
My breath hitched. My heart pounded so hard in my chest, I was sure he could hear it. I felt dizzy, weightless, like I was suspended between heaven and sothing even greater.
"Varen..." I whispered, but the rest of my words got lost as I tilted my head up and pressed my lips to his.
The kiss wasn’t careful. It wasn’t asured. It was a collision of desperation and hunger, a fire that surged between us until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. His hand slid firmly around my waist, pulling flush against him, while my fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as if I were so woman possessed.
He tasted like temptation, like a promise of sothing dangerous yet so achingly sweet I didn’t care if it destroyed .
Then—
"Interesting tis," a deep voice cut through, slicing the mont in half.
I froze, pulling back just enough to breathe, only to see Thorne standing there. His eyes weren’t calm, weren’t disinterested the way they usually were. They were blazing, sharp, furious—like I had committed a cri in front of him.
My lips parted, but no sound ca out. What if, I thought suddenly, what if despite the alcohol coursing through him earlier, he had been aware of everything he’d done? What if his anger now wasn’t about interruption but possession?
Before I could spiral further, Varen tugged closer, his hand pressing against my lower back as if to shield .
"Two mature people are having a conversation," Varen drawled, his tone laced with irritation. "You should give us privacy."
Thorne’s tongue clicked against his teeth, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between and his brother. "Josie has to be the judge of that." His voice was ice, but beneath it I heard sothing else, sothing brittle and dangerous.
Why? Why did it feel like he was in his feelings when he had made it abundantly clear—over and over—that I ant nothing to him? That I was disposable?
Still, the anger storming in his eyes... it satisfied sothing deep in . It was proof that I wasn’t invisible, proof that I had sohow unsettled the man who prided himself on being unshakable.
He turned away and left without another word.
Varen shook his head. "Spoilsport," he muttered, his lips brushing my hairline as though he could erase the sting of his brother’s intrusion.
I managed a smile, pressing my palm against his jaw, stroking the faint stubble there before leaning in to kiss him again. This one was slower, softer, but no less consuming.
When I pulled back, I forced a little laugh. "I should go."
His arms tightened imdiately. "I don’t like that you’re leaving like this."
"You’re not being abandoned," I teased, forcing lightness into my voice though my body still buzzed from his touch. "I realized sothing—you love food. So our next date? We’re making pasta together. Technically, I’m not leaving. I’m just... planning."
His eyes widened, a gasp escaping him. "Josie, are you—are you asking out?"
I smirked, brushing past him, savoring the stunned look on his face. "Guess."
When I stepped back inside, the house felt heavier sohow. My steps slowed when I noticed Thorne at the top of the stairs, waiting like a shadow carved in flesh.
"Report to my office. Now."
The command was clipped, sharp, leaving no room for questions.
I felt irritation spike hotly inside . Still, I followed, because defying him wasn’t always worth the fight.
When I entered, I kept my arms crossed tightly. "What is it?"
He was already seated behind his desk, but the look he gave was so imperious I wanted to throw sothing.
"I want pasta," he said. "And a glass of juice."
My jaw dropped. "Since when did I beco a maid?"
His tongue clicked again, that infuriating sound he made when I wasn’t fast enough to obey. "Cook. Forty-five minutes. Get it done."
"You can’t be serious."
"Move!" he barked, the sudden edge in his voice cracking through like a whip.
Heat of fury crawled up my neck. My fists clenched at my sides as I spun around and stord out of his office. Rage burned through so hot, I wanted to let him starve, wanted to slam the kitchen door shut and make him regret ordering around like so servant.
But sothing in —a foolish, stubborn part—dragged to the stove anyway.
I worked quickly, furiously. Each chop of the vegetables, each stir of the sauce, was an outlet for my anger. The sll of garlic and tomato filled the kitchen, mocking with its warmth. I plated it all in less than forty-five minutes, a personal victory, though it tasted like ash in my mouth from bitterness alone.
By the ti I returned to his office, my pulse was still racing.
He had shifted his chair to face the window, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the faint glow of evening.
"Where do you want this?" I asked stiffly, holding the tray like a peace offering I wanted to smash over his head.
"Be a good girl," he murmured, his voice low, velvet wrapping steel. "Co."
The words shouldn’t have affected , but they did. They struck like a spark, making my nipples tighten painfully beneath my blouse. My breath caught in my throat, betraying , betraying the fury I thought I still carried.
I stood frozen in the doorway, tray trembling in my hands, hating him for the way my body reacted... and hating myself even more.
Reviews
All reviews (0)