Resisting my father’s best friend
“Bella—”
I rose up on my toes, closing the distance, and kissed him.
For half a second he froze, shocked into stillness. Then he was kissing me back, fierce and hungry and nothing like the grief stricken kiss in the garden two years ago. This was different. This was him fully present, fully aware, making a choice he knew he shouldn’t make but couldn’t stop himself from making anyway.
His hands slid into my hair, tilting my head back so he could deepen the kiss. I gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more of this, more of him, more of everything we’d been denying ourselves for too long.
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