Page 103 of This Life of Mine

He swallows. And now I’m aware of everything.

His eyes first—hazel up close, flecked with gold and green, steady but searching. His dark hair, the way threads ofpepper show through when the light hits it perfectly. His skin, beautifully tanned, almost unfairly perfect, with ink stretching upwards.

My gaze drops, inadvertently, and catches on his mouth.

Full. Soft-looking. Like they were made to fit mine.

Heat floods me.

We sit there for a while longer, wine gone, dessert gone, the conversation drifting easily from one subject to the next.

And after everything—after the fear, the exhaustion—this simple normalcy seems most unexpected.

I glance back up—and find him watching me.

Not a quick glance. Not polite interest. Alex’s eyes move over me, as though he’s committing every detail to memory. He’s been careful all night, respectful almost to a fault, and somehow that makes the weight of his gaze heavier now that he’s let it slip.

My stomach flutters. It gives me permission to look back.

He sports black jeans and a black T-shirt, both fitting so precisely they appear to be made to measure. Broad shoulders, lean waist, and bulky strength. Since knowing him, he looks relaxed—and devastatingly handsome because of it.

The moment stretches, our breathing heavy now.

He exhales. “Fuck it.”

Chapter thirty-three

Lina

Before I can fully register the shift, he’s there—closing the distance, his mouth claiming mine with unmistakable intent. The kiss isn’t rushed, but it’s hungry, crushing, like restraint snapping clean in half. His tongue slides against mine with confidence, deep and unyielding, the kind of kiss that tells me he’s imagined this—more than once.

I melt into him instantly. My hands rise to his shoulders, fingers digging in as he pulls me closer, chest to chest, no hesitation left between us. This isn’t tentative. It’s want—clear, heavy, undeniable.

I pull back slightly enough to breathe, giggling, dizzy from the intensity of his touch. Alex stills, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes searching my face instead of assuming.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Was that too much?”

I nod, smiling, breathless. “I’ve been wanting you to kiss me all night.”

Something dark and satisfying flickers across his expression. His mouth curves.

“Good,” he murmurs.

He kisses me again—deeper this time.

He lifts me and settles me onto his lap, my legs instinctively bracketing his hips. Our mouths move together—kissing, nipping, smiling against each other—intimate, unguarded, needy.

His arms tighten around me, strong and sure, pulling me flush against him. I grind into him without thinking.

That’s the moment Ifeelhim. Unmistakably aroused.

I push down deliberately, craving the pressure, the proof of how turned on he is.

He groans into my mouth.

His hands slide up my sides, warm palms skimming beneath my shirt, thumbs brushing skin. Mine tangling in his hair, tugging, grounding myself in the reality of him.

There’s no past here. No fear. No caution. Just this. Just us.