Chapter 23 This ends badly
Ryan starts to step back.
It’s instinct....I don’t let him. My hand stays firm on his waist, anchoring him there, and I feel the hitch in his breath when he realizes I’m not giving him the space. We’re both breathing heavier now, like the air’s been thinned on purpose. I guide him in without force, just pressure, until he’s flush against me completely, no gaps left to lie to ourselves with.
He feels too good like this. Warm and real. I dip my head and kiss the corner of his mouth, then pull back just enough to look at him. His hands are fisted in my shirt now, knuckles white, like he doesn’t trust himself to touch skin. We stare at each other, close enough that I can see the thoughts chasing each other behind his eyes, the hesitation fighting the want.
I wonder which one’s winning.
He looks away for a second, like he’s trying to get a grip on himself. Then he turns back and kisses me again. It's short, almost accidental. An impulse he regrets the second it ends. He cuts it off too fast, like he’s afraid of what happens if he doesn’t.
I stay exactly where I am.
I tune into the feel of him against me, let it wash over me without restraint. His body fits mine in a way that feels unfair, like my nervous system has been waiting for this shape. It’s intoxicating, having him this close, knowing I’m the reason his breath is wrecked, knowing I could tip this either way with one move. It makes me crave more with a hunger that’s physical and stupid and impossible to talk down.
My thoughts slip their leash, I picture him under me, that stubborn edge turning pliant, and my body responds before I can shut it down. I’m suddenly undeniably hard, and my fingers dig into his waist, grounding myself before I lose what’s left of my grip. As if that'll somehow keep the reaction contained.
It doesn’t.
We’re too close for that. He notices, his eyes drift down, slow and curious, and when they come back up there’s something charged sitting in his expression now....something unsettled and very aware. I’m right on the edge, wired and reckless and completely gone for him, and the look on his face tells me he knows it.
My mouth tilts into a slow smirk. “You obviously excite me,” I say quietly. He stills, then his hands loosen from my shirt, sliding down to wrap around my wrists instead. Not tight, just firm enough to be clear. His eyes lift to mine and he gives a subtle pull, a silent request to let him go before he has to move himself.
For a beat, I consider ignoring it. Then I exhale and ease my grip. He steps back until a desk catches him. He drags the chair out and drops into it, spine stiff, knees spread just enough to ground himself. The folder he left there earlier sits forgotten by his elbow. He rakes a hand through his hair, fingers catching and tugging once like he’s trying to pull himself back into his own head.
I lean against the wall, hands sliding back into my pockets. I don’t say anything, I just watch. The silence stretches while I try to read him, those tells I’m starting to recognize, but right now it’s like staring at a locked door with no keyhole. I come up empty. Then he looks up at me.
“That was a mistake,” he says carefully, almost like he’s testing the words. They hit wrong and I hate it on instinct. Mistake.... Like it was careless, like it was accidental. Like it didn’t feel consuming and entirely too right. I keep my face neutral. Nod slowly, as if I’m turning it over. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it?”
His jaw tightens.
“Because if that was a mistake,” I go on mildly, pushing off the wall just enough to shift my weight, “I should probably warn you, I’m extremely fond of how your mistakes taste.”
His eyes flicker with something he clearly doesn’t want me to see.
“Michael,” he says, sharper now. “I’m being serious. We shouldn’t–”
“There it is again.... shouldn't,” I cut in smoothly.
He exhales through his nose, frustrated. “This isn’t a joke.”
“I know,” I say, and I mean it. I tilt my head, studying him where he sits, flushed and conflicted and trying so hard to be responsible. “So help me out. Why shouldn’t we?”
He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, like if he looks up he’ll lose whatever fragile control he’s clinging to. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks.
“This ends badly.”
I frown, the words feel too final, too rehearsed. “What, you already ran some kind of internal simulation?” I ask. “Fast-forwarded to the part where everything explodes?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
That gets under my skin more than I expect. I straighten slightly. “Try me.”
He shakes his head once, still not looking at me. “That’s exactly the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
He finally glances at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Trying you.... I want to. A little too much.”
I let the words hang in the air. “Sounds like we have very different interpretations of the word ‘problem.’”
His smile is barely there, ghost-light, but it hits me in the chest anyway.
“I.... last night, when I got home,” he says, voice low, “I convinced myself I’d quit overthinking. That I’d let myself be reckless with you.”
“Reckless?” I echo, tasting the word. “Is that what I inspire in you? Recklessness?”
His eyes flick up to mine, hesitant but burning with something unspoken. “Among other things.”
I push off the wall, closing the distance. My shadow falls over the chair, over him entirely. I lean slightly, just enough that he can feel the weight of me, the heat. He glances up at me, throat working, unsure how to speak, how to breathe.
“What else?” I ask, tone teasing but edged with that same sharp hunger. “What exactly am I making you feel that you’re not telling me? That you're hellbent on ignoring?”
His eyes flick away for a moment, then back. The tension between us is nearly unbearable, each heartbeat loud in the quiet room. I can feel it in the curve of his shoulders, the way he shifts against the chair, the barely restrained energy humming through him.
“I don’t know,” he admits. His eyes don’t look away this time, and there’s a raw honesty in them that makes my chest tighten. “I just feel too much when I’m around you,” he continues, voice trembling slightly, like he’s exposing something fragile. “It’s like all I notice is you. And then I start overthinking, and panicking, and wanting things I shouldn’t even be thinking about.” He swallows hard, eyes darting down for a fraction of a second before meeting mine again. “And no matter how hard I try, I can’t make it stop.”
“Why do you want it to?” I ask, genuinely searching his face. “Why would you fight it?”