Chapter 133: Reid
The simple permission hits harder than it should. It’s like the air changes—thickens—pulls tight around us. I lift a hand, slow, careful, so she knows exactly what I’m doing. My thumb brushes the curve of her jaw first, her skin warm and soft beneath my fingers. She closes her eyes, exhales shakily, and I trace the line of her face up to her cheek, down to her neck.
Her pulse is racing, fluttering wildly under my touch.
I whisper, “That’s better,” more to myself than to her, because now that I can feel her, now that I know she’s real and right here, everything else—the noise, the confusion, even Finn—fades to nothing.
Just her.
Her breath trembles as I slide my fingers down, slow enough that she can stop me at any second, but she doesn’t. She leans into it instead, her forehead resting against my chest, like the fight in her just broke apart.
Her hands are still trembling when I take her chin between my fingers. She’s small like this, fragile under the weight of my touch, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.
Her breath stutters as I tilt her face up to me.
Her palms clutch at my shirt now, desperate for something to anchor herself to, and I feel the drag of her fingertips through the thin cotton, the tremor in her touch. Every part of me aches to close the distance, to make her look at no one else, to make sure she never runs from me again.
The furious, tear-streaked girl from minutes ago is gone.
Now she’s wide-eyed. Shaken.
And waiting.
“Madeline,” I murmur, my voice low and rough enough to make her shiver. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Her lips part. A shaky exhale leaves her throat.
“From the moment I saw you,” I continue, leaning closer until her breath hits my jaw, “I’ve had feelings for you. Feelings so strong I mistook them for hate.”
Her brow creases slightly, like she wants to understand, but she can’t. I don’t even understand it fully myself.
“Because you,” my thumb drags along her lower lip, pressing until she lets out the tiniest sound, a soft gasp that shoots straight through me. “You disarm me. You make me forget the rules I live by. You make me want things I have no business wanting.”
She starts to shake her head, whisper something, but I don’t let her. My hand leaves her jaw, slides down, slow and deliberate — along the side of her neck again, over her collarbone, until my fingers find the curve of her waist.
Her breath catches.
I keep my eyes on hers. “Every time I’ve touched you, every time I’ve looked at you—it’s been intentional.”
My hand moves lower, along her hip, feeling the shiver that runs through her body as I trace the line of her dress. My thumb brushes the bare skin at her thigh. Her pulse is going wild; I can feel it even from here.
“You drive me insane,” I say, the words breaking out of me like a growl. “I’ve tried to stay away from you. I’ve told myself a hundred fucking times that you’re trouble, that you’re off-limits. But every time you look at me…”
I lean in until my forehead nearly touches hers.
“Every time you breathe near me, I want to ruin the distance between us.”
Her lips tremble. Her eyes have gone glassy, unfocused—like she’s caught somewhere between fear and wanting. Like she’s waiting for me to break her resolve completely.
My fingers tighten slightly at her waist, pulling her the smallest inch closer.
“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” I murmur, my voice low, dangerous, reverent. “That I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself. Because I can’t stop wanting you. Because I see other men touch you and it makes me want to tear the world apart.”
Her lips part again, but no words come out. Her breathing turns shallow, fast. I can feel the warmth of it against my mouth now.
And when her eyes flutter closed for a second—just one second—it takes everything in me not to give in.
Not yet.
Not until she says it.
“So there you have it,” I murmur, my voice low, gravel dark with restraint. “I am not taken.” I drag my gaze down her face, her mouth, the pulse at her throat that still won’t stay still. “And I crave you like a madman.”
Something in her breaks at that—whatever wall she’s been holding up between us shatters. Her fingers fist in my shirt, tugging me closer, her breath catching halfway through my name.
“Reid...”
I hum against the space between us, the sound rough and quiet. “Hm?”
She just looks at me—those wide green eyes burning, glassy, pleading for something she doesn’t even have words for.
“Say what you want, Trouble,” I whisper, my mouth brushing her temple, the edge of her cheek. “Or do you want me to tell you what I want?”
Her throat bobs. She nods.
And that’s all it takes.
My hands slide down her sides, catching her under the thighs, and she lets out a startled gasp as I lift her—her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist, her fingers gripping my shoulders like she’s terrified of falling. I press her back against the wall, pinning her there with my body, my breath ragged against her ear.
“What I want,” I murmur, my voice dark, rough, nearly a growl, “is to kiss that pretty mouth of yours.”
She gasps again, softer this time, a sound caught somewhere between a plea and surrender.
“So do it,” she whispers.
And I need nothing else.
My mouth crashes onto hers, at first slow—testing, feeling the shape of her lips under mine. She’s soft, impossibly soft, and when her small whimper slips through, I lose the last thread of control I had left.
The kiss turns feral. My tongue parts her lips, coaxing, claiming, until she meets me there with the same desperate hunger I’ve been holding back for weeks.
She’s not passive—not one bit. She’s clutching my shoulders, pulling me closer, her nails dragging across my skin through the fabric. Her body arches against mine, fitting perfectly, like she was made for this.
Every sound she makes, every shallow breath, every small movement feeds the fire I’ve been trying to starve.
And when I finally pull back, just a fraction, just enough to breathe her in, her lips are swollen, her eyes half-lidded and dazed, and I know—
There’s no going back from this.
Not for me.
Not for her.