Chapter 27 “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Chapter 27 “You have no idea what you do to me.”
The thought hit me hard, sharp, unexpected.

Because it wasn’t just jealousy.
It wasn’t just impulse.
It wasn’t just him showing up at my door breathless and undone.

It was the way he said needed.
The way his voice cracked on it.
The way he looked at me like he’d been fighting something inside himself and finally lost.

His eyes searched mine, desperate and vulnerable in a way Marco never allowed himself to be. He wasn’t trying to intimidate me. He wasn’t trying to control the moment. He was standing there, raw and exposed, waiting for me to understand something he couldn’t quite say out loud.

My heart thudded painfully.

Because it felt like a confession. Not in words.
But in everything else — the urgency, the fear, the way he’d come undone at the thought of me with someone else.

Guilt hit me first — sharp, immediate, twisting low in my stomach.

What I was doing was wrong. I knew it.I had just agreed to try something with Robin. We’d promised to take it slow, to see where things went. He’d barely walked out the door, and here I was… losing myself the second Marco appeared.

It felt like betrayal.
It felt messy.
It felt like everything I’d tried to build tonight was slipping through my fingers.

But my heart — and my body — didn’t seem to care. I wanted him.

Because when Marco kissed me, all the logic, all the rules, all the careful lines I’d drawn for myself blurred into nothing. He had this way of pulling the truth out of me without saying a word. This way of making me forget the world outside the space between us.

And that terrified me.

I didn’t trust my voice — not with the way my pulse was racing, not with the way his eyes were searching mine like he was afraid of what I’d say.

So I didn’t say anything. I reached for him instead.

My fingers curled into the collar of his suit jacket, pulling him back toward me with a certainty that didn’t match the chaos in my head. His breath caught — just for a second — before he met me halfway, his lips finding mine again with a rush of relief and longing.

This kiss was different.
Not frantic.
Not explosive.
But deep, deliberate, full of everything we’d been trying to pretend wasn’t there.

For that moment, there was only him.Only us. Only the truth neither of us had been brave enough to face.

And even though it felt wrong…it also felt inevitable.

My hands moved before my thoughts could catch up.

I reached for his jacket, fingers brushing the fabric, and Marco froze for a heartbeat. Not pulling away — just hesitating, searching my face as if he needed to be absolutely sure this was what I wanted.

And it was.
God, it was.

The guilt was still there, a quiet ache in the back of my mind, but the pull toward him was stronger — deeper — something I’d been fighting for far too long.

So I kept going.

I slid the jacket off his shoulders, slow and deliberate. He let out a shaky breath, the kind that said he was barely holding himself together. His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and conflicted, as if he was giving me every chance to stop.

But I didn’t stop.

I reached for the buttons of his shirt, my fingers trembling just enough to betray how much this moment was undoing me. He caught my wrist gently, his touch warm and uncertain.

“Emily…” he murmured, voice low, strained, almost pleading — not for me to stop, but for clarity, for permission, for something he couldn’t name.

I looked up at him, heart pounding, and the truth was written all over me.

I wanted him. Despite the timing. Despite the guilt. Despite everything

So I guided his hand away and continued unfastening his shirt, one button at a time, feeling the tension in him coil tighter with each movement.

He didn’t resist.
He didn’t rush me.
He just stood there, breathing hard, letting me choose him in the quietest, most undeniable way.

His shirt fell open, and he stood there in front of me, chest rising and falling, eyes dark with a mix of longing and disbelief. he exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

“Emily…” he murmured, voice low, almost unsteady.

I didn’t let him finish.

I reached for him again, pulling him back into a kiss — deeper this time, slower, full of everything I couldn’t say out loud. He responded instantly, his hands finding my waist with a kind of reverence, like he was afraid to grip too hard, afraid to break whatever fragile truth was forming between us.

His forehead brushed mine as he breathed me in, his voice barely a whisper against my lips.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

And maybe I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to think about consequences or guilt or the promises I’d made earlier tonight.

All I knew was that in that moment, with his shirt open and his breath warm against my skin, I wanted him close. Closer than I’d ever let myself want before.

And he wanted me too.

I took his hand and guided him toward the bedroom.