Chapter 101
Summer's POV
"You're such a coward," I said again, but there was no heat in it now, just a desperate kind of tenderness. "Why do you only let yourself be like this when no one can see? Why do you only let yourself want me when we're alone?"
His jaw clenched, and I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard. "Because if anyone saw—if anyone knew—they'd ruin you. They'd tear you apart. And I can't—" His voice cracked. "I can't be the reason that happens to you."
"I don't care what they think."
"You should." His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone with a gentleness that made my eyes sting. "You should care. You should run as far away from me as you possibly can."
"Too bad." My own hands came up to frame his face, feeling the sharp line of his jaw beneath my palms, the slight scratch of stubble, the way his pulse jumped beneath my fingertips. "I'm not going anywhere."
Something broke in his expression—some last thread of control finally snapping. "Summer—"
"You're a coward," I whispered again, my eyes dropping to his mouth. "Why won't you just—"
He kissed me.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful. It was desperate and fierce and completely overwhelming, his mouth crashing against mine like he was drowning and I was air. One hand tangled in my wet hair, tilting my head back, while the other pressed against the small of my back, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. His lips were cold from the rain but impossibly soft, moving against mine with a hunger that sent electricity racing down my spine.
My brain short-circuited. Every thought scattered, every carefully constructed wall crumbling to dust, and all I could do was feel—the heat of his mouth, the strength in his arms, the way his whole body was trembling against mine like he was coming apart at the seams. My hands fisted in his wet shirt, holding on for dear life, and when his tongue swept across my lower lip I made a sound I'd never made before, something between a gasp and a whimper that seemed to undo him completely.
He pulled back just far enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against mine, his eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain. "I can't—" His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. "Summer, I can't do this. I can't be what you need."
"You already are," I whispered, and then I kissed him again.
This time it was slower, sweeter, my hands sliding up to tangle in his damp hair, feeling the way he shuddered at the touch. He made a broken sound against my mouth, something desperate and helpless, and kissed me back like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth. The world narrowed down to just this—his mouth on mine, his arms around me, the frantic beating of his heart against my chest.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard, both trembling. His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them, pupils blown wide, and the way he was looking at me—like I was something miraculous and terrifying and utterly impossible—made my knees weak.
Then reality crashed back in. I saw the panic flood his expression, saw the regret already forming, and before he could say anything—before he could ruin this perfect, terrible moment—I turned and ran.
"Summer, wait—!"
But I didn't stop. I couldn't. Because if I stopped, if I turned around and saw the apology in his eyes, if I let him take this back—
I burst through the door into the rain, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs, my lips still tingling from his kiss, and ran for my mom's car like my life depended on it.
Behind me, I heard the door slam open, heard him call my name again, desperate and broken.
But I didn't look back.
Because I was terrified—not of what had just happened, but of how much I wanted it to happen again.