Chapter 180 You should leave
~Hermes~
Song recommendation: YAD– Vannna Ranielle.
Her gaze lifts.
I watch the way her eyes widen, the way color crawls up her neck and settles on her cheeks.
That look—God—that look alone is enough to rip the restraint out of me.
She shouldn’t look at me like that.
Not when I’m this close.
Not when I’m already fighting myself.
I brace both hands on the cabinet above her head, gripping the edges because I need something to hold onto before I reach for her instead.
“What?” she stutters, dropping her gaze. “I’m not… thinking about—”
She stops.
Her eyes are no longer on my face. They’re on my trousers.
I follow her stare downwards and inhale sharply, jaw tightening.
Of course she can see it.
I’m hard—too hard—and there’s no hiding it when the damn hospital pajamas cling to everything.
I shut my eyes and shift away from her, trying to breathe through the heat hammering through my blood.
“You should leave…”
It comes out rougher than I want.
Almost pleading.
She nods like she’s going to—then freezes.
And turns back.
“What if I don’t want to?” she says quietly.
My brows pull together.
Why isn’t she leaving?
Why is she looking at me like that?
Why does it feel like she’s slipping—like she wants something from me, even if she doesn’t realize it?
I drag my thumb across my lower lip, trying to keep my voice steady.
“If you stay,” I tell her, “I’ll do something I won’t regret… but I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”
Her breath stutters.
My pulse kicks hard against my throat.
I don’t know what memories are real yet, which ones are missing, which ones she’s hiding from me… but my body remembers her.
All of her.
Her mouth, her breath, the way she moved under me—
It all hits like a punch behind my ribs.
She’s close enough now that I can feel her breathing, can smell the faint sweetness of her perfume clinging to her skin.
One more second.
One wrong move.
And I know damn well I’ll have her pinned against the counter, taking her the way I remember taking her that night—messy and desperate.
I watch her swallow hard, the subtle quiver of her lips, the way her gaze flickers downward then meets mine.
“Well, why don’t you do it and find out if I’d regret it,” she murmurs, lifting her eyes.
Her expression… it’s raw, it’s teasing, it’s deliberate. And every rational thought I had evaporates instantly.
I don’t think. I don’t pause.
I pin her against the wall, my hand pressing firmly against her hair to keep her from smacking into it. My other hand slides from her jawline, tracing the delicate curve of her neck, lingering over the pulse I’ve known, felt, remembered.
I lean in, tasting her earlobe lightly, trailing down the line of her neck, the faint scent of her skin pulling at something buried deep inside me.
“Hermes…” Her breath hits me, warm, desperate. She closes her eyes.
And then—bam—a memory bursts in. The hotel. That night. Her hair messy in a bun. A pink dress. Those same eyes. That same voice, trembling with need.
I shut my eyes to hold it, to memorize it again, let it sink into me.
My hands wander from her jaw to her shoulders, then slide down to her chest, the heat of her pressing into me, the familiarity, the ache, the fire—all of it colliding with the fragments of memory I can now recall.
“Hermes…” Her breath hits me again, warm and trembling, as her hands cup my face, forcing me to look at her.
I watch her lips part, her gaze wandering from my forehead… down to my lips.
Instinctively, I press my forehead against hers, our lips hovering, teasing each other in an unspoken dance of temptation. A fleeting brush here, a soft graze there—each one making the air between us thick, electric.
Her body moves against mine, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, daring me to forget reason.
I let my hands wander. First along her arm, feeling the softness of her skin, then lower… pressing against her chest. My fingers pinch through the thin fabric of her shirt, teasing, testing, feeling her reaction.
A soft moan escapes her lips. It hits me like a live wire. The sound alone drives me further, igniting a fire I’ve been starving to touch.
I lift her effortlessly, bringing her closer, adjusting so she’s slightly higher than before. Her hair falls like silk over my face, brushing my lips and nose, intoxicating in its scent.
“You’re so beautiful,” I exhale, unable to stop myself. I dive in, tasting her lips—first the lower, nibbling softly, then the upper, letting my tongue trace the curve as I gently push her hair behind her ear.
Our tongues meet, exploring, tasting, devouring each other. Every kiss a claim, a reminder, a memory igniting inside me.
“I’ve missed this…” she whispers as we break apart briefly. Her eyes shine fondly at me, and it’s more than desire stirring—it’s longing, attachment, something deeper that gnaws at my chest.
She pushes a stray strand of my hair, hands landing on my shoulders. I inhale sharply.
“Do you? Then you should come back to me.” The words are sharp, desperate—and a flash hits me. Chris. The strategy guy who tried to bet his way into touching her. I remember the punishment, my possessiveness, my rage.
“What? What happened, Hermes?” she asks, snapping me back to her, her voice grounding me.
I blink, realization settling in. I’ve always been like this—possessive, unrelenting, every rational thought slipping away when it comes to her. Even knowing she’s with Ted—my friend—means nothing. I want her. I need her.
“Are we doing something illegal?” I ask, voice low, urgent.
June hesitates, flustered.
“Don’t answer that. Just…” I claim her lips again, letting my hands trace down her jawline, over her neck, to her collarbone. My other hand slides down her skirt, rubbing against the soft expanse of her thigh. Her fingers claw at my bare back, nails biting lightly, and I growl—both in frustration and craving.
I pause, my forehead resting against hers, breathing her in. My hand lingers on her thigh, my thumb brushing slowly. My voice drops, low and almost rough:
“Did I ever tell you… what I did to Chris?”