Page 41 of Impulse Control
He shifted, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at me properly. “Chinese?” he murmured, his thumb stroking a line along my jaw. “Rachel, if you’d asked for Chinese, I would have had to fight a guy over General Tso’s chicken.” He leaned down and kissed me, a soft, lingering press of his lips that was nothing like the frantic ones from before. It was a kiss that said hello. “And I probably would have won,” he added against my mouth. “But I would’ve been way too exhausted for this afterward.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
Tonight…
We shattered together, a tangled, sweating mess of limbs and ragged breaths, collapsing onto the bed in a heap of sated exhaustion. He was heavy on top of me, a solid, grounding weight that I didn’t want to move. I could feel his heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat that matched my own. For a long time, we just lay there, letting the world come back into focus one labored breath at a time.
Eventually, he stirred, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked down at me, his dark hair a complete mess, his lips swollen from my kisses. A slow, lazy smile touched his mouth, and he reached out, gently tucking a strand of sweat-damp hair behind my ear. “So,” he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rasp. “Was that hard enough for you?”
A breathless laugh escaped me. I felt wrecked. Gloriously, thoroughly, beautifully wrecked. “I think,” I managed, my ownvoice hoarse, “you might have overshot the mark on ‘for days.’ Try ‘for a week.’ Maybe two.”
He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that I felt in my bones. He dipped his head and kissed the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, a series of soft, almost reverent presses. “Good.” He shifted, carefully withdrawing from me. The loss of his warmth and weight was immediate and startling. He dealt with the condom in the bathroom, and I took the moment to just… breathe. My body ached in the most delicious way, a deep, satisfying soreness that was a testament to his promise fulfilled.
When he came back, he didn’t immediately climb back into bed. He stood there for a second, just looking at me, naked and unselfconscious in the lamplight. His gaze was so intense it felt like a physical touch, tracing the lines of my body, the marks on my skin that his mouth and hands had left. It wasn’t just lust in his eyes; it was something else. Something deeper. Something that looked a hell of a lot like history.
And just like that, the lighthearted moment shifted. The air grew thick, charged with all the times we’d been here before, in different rooms, in different cities, always with this same fiery, unspoken understanding between us. All the near misses and the deliberate pull-backs, the way I’d always run the morning after, leaving nothing but a scent on his pillows and an ache in my chest. The weight of it settled in my chest, heavy and profound.
He must have felt it too, because his smile faded, replaced by that same intense, searching look. He moved back to the bed, sitting on the edge and taking my hand. His thumb stroked over my knuckles, a slow, rhythmic motion that was both comforting and electrifying.
“Rachel,” he said, his voice quiet now, serious. “This has never been a one-time thing.”
My breath hitched. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A declaration that cut through every excuse I’d ever made.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a low, possessive whisper that sent a fresh shiver down my spine. “You can run all you want,” he murmured, the words a dark, velvet promise against my skin. “But I will always chase.”
He pulled back just enough to catch my eye, and the look in his, was all-consuming. It held every time he’d let me go, and every time he’d waited for me to come back. “And tonight,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, “is just getting started.”
I couldn't resist or deny my reaction. Not when the challenge in his declaration thrilled me.
From Rachel’s Diary:
I left him tonight, right after dinner. It was quiet. Intense. Fierce. No words. No goodbye. Just his lips pressing against my hand and me turning to walk away.
Coming back to the apartment, it’s too damn quiet. He was never here, and yet I can’t seem to escape him—anywhere. I still feel him. At the curve of my shoulder where his hand lingered, in the heat still crawling across my skin, in the memory of him in ways I can’t name. He’s not here, and I can’t seem to stop feeling him.
Everywhere. In the curve of my shoulder where his hand rested, in the heat that lingered across my skin, in the memory of his mouth tracing questions I didn’t have words for.
The weekend replayed itself like a movie on loop in my mind, and I knew I’d feel him for a week or more—just like I said. Every moment, every scent, every careless laugh I allowed myselfis burned in there. And I have no idea how to break the cycle. How to stop letting him take up more space than the reality I’ve fought so hard to build for myself.
I should be reclaiming my independence. I should be unpacking my weekend, checking my emails, grounding myself back in my apartment, my routines, my rules. But instead, I was suspended—adrift in a heat I couldn’t name, a desire I couldn’t avoid.
I don’t know how to make it stop…
Dammit.
Chapter
Nine
RACHEL
Monday did not care about the emotional fallout of the weekend or how sore my body was after spending all that time with Dominic. I’d showered, changed clothes, washed my hair—none of it mattered. I could still smell him on me, like he’d imprinted on me.
The worst part, though, was how I couldfeelhim with each step, with how my clothing moved against my skin, and how the air kissed my cheeks. Every single contact was a reminder of him. Of his sensual caresses. I did not want to be this obsessed with him. What was the point of moving thousands of miles away if one visit could utterly erase all the distance I’d created?
Paris Daily was already alive when I walked in—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, voices layered in French and English and impatience. The building hummed with purpose, and for the first time since I’d started here, I didn’t feel like I was slipping into someone else’s rhythm or trying to follow unfamiliar steps.
I felt… like Ibelonged.
