Page 88 of The Next Lie

It takes effort. My neck feels loose, my eyes swollen, my whole body wrung out. Ever looks down at me, dark eyes steady and too gentle for a man who can break bones as efficiently as breathing.

The unfinished thing from last night sits between us.

I should apologize. Explain. Deflect. Make a joke sharp enough to cut the moment into smaller pieces.

I am too tired for the usual exit routes, though.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Ever’s expression changes. His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts back to my eyes. “Now?”

I almost laugh. “No, Ever. I thought we’d schedule it for a more convenient trauma spiral.”

His thumb moves once at the back of my neck. He does not rush. That is the first thing that almost undoes me.

Ever lowers his mouth to mine like he has all the time in the world, like the kiss is not a thing he has been owed or denied or promised, but something we are choosing together in the wreckage.

His lips touch mine softly.

Once.

Then again.

A question.

I answer by leaning in.

His hand tightens at the back of my neck, and the kiss deepens. Slowly at first, then with a heat that rolls through me and changes the shape of this shitty morning. He tastes like coffee and restraint. His mouth is firm, deliberate, patient until I make a small sound against him.

Then patience slips.

He pulls me closer, one arm banding around my waist, and kisses me like the quiet ones always do when the leash finally snaps. Deep. Hungry. Still controlled, but only because Ever’s control is built from steel and bad intentions.

My gloves thump uselessly against his chest. I try to touch him and can’t.

Goddammit…of all the things…

That should not be funny. It is, though.

A laugh breaks into the kiss, shaky and wet and ridiculous. Ever pulls back half an inch, breathing against my mouth.

“What?”

I look down at the oversized gloves between us, then back up at him.

“Ever.”

His eyes search mine.

“I’m gonna need you to take these gloves off my hands so I can touch you now.”

Delia—

I just wailed on a heavy bag until my hands hurt. That sounds more impressive than it was. Mostly I cried and missed and kicked something that did not deserve it.

I tried to make your face the target. I couldn’t do it, though.

Then I tried to make mine the target, which is probably not emotionally recommended.