Page 387 of Bad Prince
The fact that I was done pretending I could survive him halfway.
His thumb brushed my bottom lip, and I made the smallest sound in the back of my throat before I could stop it.
His eyes burned.
“Say it again,” he said.
“That I want you back?”
His jaw tightened.
“No. Say you won’t run, especially when it gets hard.”
I held his stare.
“This time,” I whispered, “I’m all in.”
A tremor moved through him.
His mouth hovered just above mine.
So close I could feel the shape of his next breath.
So close that one inch would’ve changed everything.
But he stopped.
Actually stopped.
And somehow that was hotter than if he’d kissed me.
Because it meant this mattered.
Because it meant he was choosing this.
Because it meant when he finally did kiss me, it wouldn’t be a relapse or a weakness or some dark-corner mistake he could walk away from.
His forehead touched mine.
“When I get back,” he said, each word low and deliberate, “I’m making you mine.”
My fingers tightened in his hoodie.
“Tristan—”
He pulled back just enough to look at me.
No armor.
No smirk.
No escape.
Just him.
“It’s on, Stells,” he said quietly. “The second I get back, I’m taking you to my room, locking the door, and undressing you slowly enough that you feel every second of how long I’ve wanted this.”
A shiver chased down my spine.
