“You were the one that walked away, Callen,” he hisses. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”
His hands flex at his sides, jaw tight, lips parted like he’s holding something back.
So I kiss him.
More Newart
I kiss him so hard that his back hits the tree again with the force of it, and I don’t care. I want him to feel this. I need him to feel this, because I’ve loved him for too damn long to keep pretending I don’t.
At first, he freezes, still caught between questions and doubt. But then he breaks. He kisses me back like he’s starved for it. Like this is the only thing keeping him upright.
One hand fists in my shirt, the other digs into my side.
I press harder, my hand curling around the back of his neck, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. I don’t hold back. I want him to know he’s wanted. That he’s still mine.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing raggedly, his head thunks softly back against the tree..
“I hate you,” he whispers.
I huff a breath, pressing my forehead to his. “Liar.”
“Don’t stop,” he breathes.
“I won’t,” I promise. “Not unless you tell me to.”
He doesn’t.
That’s all the permission I need.
I kiss him again. Hard and hungry. It’s not gentle, not even a little. It’s messy, years of want and regret and what-ifs spilling out in this single moment.
He kisses me back just as hungrily. I press him back against the tree, chest to chest, grinding myself against him. I want to feel the heat of him everywhere.
This isn’t a mistake. It can’t be. Not when it feels this good.
My hand slips beneath his shirt, brushing over warm, bare skin. He jolts like I’ve shocked him, his breath stuttering in my mouth. His skin is hot and smooth, like velvet over muscle. I run my fingers along the line of his ribs, loving the way he tenses, the way he melts for me.
I trail kisses down his jaw, then to his throat, tasting salt and heat and everything I crave from him.
Remy shudders, his fingers tightening in my shirt. His hands fumble at the hem, pushing it up and over my head. The air is cool against my skin, a harsh contrast to the heat of his touch. His palms roam over my chest like they’ve always belonged there.
Being with him like this feels like… like coming home. His touch doesn’t just burn, it sets me on fire.
My fingers grip his hip, tugging him closer, and he lets out this soft, broken sound that undoes something in me
I want more. I need him. All of him. But not here, not like this.
I press my forehead to his again, catching my breath, but I don’t pull away.
His eyes are glassy, lips red and kiss-swollen.
I don’t know where we go from here. How we navigate this with Paige in the picture now. I only know that my feelings for him are real. Right now, in this moment, he’s as real as her, and I need them both.
Maybe I should feel guilty. Maybe I should stop. But every time I look at him, all I feel is want. And hadn’t Paige practically given me permission? She told me to do whatever it takes, and this is what it takes to pull Remy from his dark place. He needs love and acceptance. He needs to know how much I want him, how much I love him.
I kiss him again, slower this time, like I’m trying to say all the things I don’t have the guts to say out loud.
His hand curls around the back of my neck, keeping me close, like he’s scared I’ll vanish.
There’s silence between us for a while as we just hold each other, breathing together.
“She thinks I was messing with her,” he breathes.
“I know,” I say quietly. “She told me.”
He drags a hand down my arm, fingers shaking slightly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have waited.”
“You shouldn’t have done it alone. I think she felt too vulnerable alone with you because she doesn’t know you. She hasn’t seen the real you yet.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Stupid, right?”
“A little,” I say. “But also brave.”
“I was trying, Cal,” he says, and my heart nearly stops at the sound of my name on his lips like that. “For once, I was trying to be the guy you always saw in me.” emotions.
“You don’t have to try to be anything,” I say. “You just need to be yourself and not let your the better of you.”
He turns his head away, jaw clenched. “You picked her. What reaction did you expect me to have?”
“I didn’t pick anyone.
“You kissed her. Slept with her.”
I don’t deny it.
“And you think that means I don’t love you?” I ask, admitting my real feelings for him out loud.
That gets him. His breath catches. His eyes find mine again, confused and desperate and so damn full of ache.
“Remy,” I whisper. “You’re not second. I didn’t choose her over you because it’s not something
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