Chapter 5: His hands, Her name

I avoided him all morning.

Not because I didn’t want him.

Because I did. Too much.

But Avery’s name on his phone screen had ripped through me like a cold slap.

It didn’t matter that he ignored her.

It didn’t matter that he was in my bed hours earlier, moaning into my mouth and spilling inside me like I was the only girl who existed.

It still made me feel… small.

Replaceable.

Like I was just the latest secret.

I was halfway through wiping down the kitchen counter when I felt him behind me—close, warm, dangerous.

“You mad?” Jace asked.

I didn’t turn around. “No.”

“You don’t lie well.”

He stepped closer, chest brushing my back. I gripped the counter harder.

“I told you she means nothing,” he said into my ear.

“But you didn’t tell her that.”

Silence.

Then: “Because I don’t want to say anything until I know what *we* are.”

I turned.

My heart was in my throat. “You don’t know?”

His jaw clenched. “We’re messy. We’re secret. We’re…”

He trailed off, his eyes dropping to my lips.

“We’re dangerous.”

My breath hitched. “But you want me?”

He leaned in, hands sliding to my waist. “I’d burn the whole world down just to taste you again.”

I grabbed his shirt and kissed him hard.

Desperate. Angry. Starved.

He lifted me onto the counter in one fluid motion and yanked my shorts down like he was done pretending.

“Right here?” I whispered, eyes wide.

“Don’t care,” he growled, already kneeling.

He buried his face between my thighs and devoured me like he was angry I’d made him wait.

I bit down on my fist to keep from screaming.

My legs trembled. My back arched. My body gave in too easily.

And then we heard it.

The front door.

“Jace?” his dad called. “You home?”

Jace stood instantly, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the pantry just as footsteps hit the hallway.

We slammed the door shut and held our breath.

I was still panting.

Still wet.

Still pulsing from the orgasm he hadn’t let me finish.

He kissed my neck. My jaw. My ear.

“Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

His hands were already in my shirt, sliding up, tugging at my bra. I fumbled with his zipper, freeing him, hard and hot in my hand.

He spun me around, bent me over the pantry shelf, and entered me from behind in one hard thrust.

I almost cried out.

He clamped a hand over my mouth, hips snapping into me over and over, his other hand gripping my waist.

It was fast. Brutal. Reckless.

The shelves shook. The cereal box toppled.

He pounded into me like he didn’t care if we got caught.

And maybe I didn’t either.

I came hard around him, shaking with the effort of staying quiet.

He followed seconds later, his groan muffled against my shoulder as he spilled inside me again.

We stayed like that—pressed together, breathless—until the footsteps faded upstairs.

Then we laughed. Quiet. Nervous. Guilty.

“This is getting insane,” I whispered, fixing my shirt.