A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 86: CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

ASHLEY

I should have stopped him.

I should have pulled away the second his lips touched mine.

But I didn’t.

Because the moment Kyle kissed me, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

The room, the cold, the lingering fear still clinging to my skin like a second layer—it all faded into nothing. There was only his warmth, his hands framing my face, his mouth claiming mine with a desperation that I felt deep in my bones.

I shouldn’t be kissing this man. I shouldn’t.

But would it really be the end of the world if I did?

It’s not like it would be the first time.

The thought barely had time to settle before my lips parted for him, instinct overriding reason. There was no hesitation in the way his tongue brushed against mine, no second-guessing in the way he kissed me like he had been starving for the taste of me.

A deep, guttural groan rumbled through his chest, and the sound vibrated against my skin, sending a hot, reckless shiver down my spine. My arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing our bodies together in a way that left no space between us.

Home.

Gods, he tasted like home.

Like something I had lost and never thought I’d find again.

Kyle’s hands slipped beneath my thighs, gripping me effortlessly as he lifted me off the ground. I gasped into his mouth, my fingers tightening in his hair as he pulled me against him, his body solid and strong beneath mine.

And then he kissed me harder.

Like this was the only time he’d get. Like he needed this as much as air.

Or maybe that’s just how I was kissing him back.

It didn’t matter who was taking from whom, who was leading or who was following. All that mattered was that neither of us stopped.

I locked my ankles at the small of his back, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. My breath hitched at the heat of his body, at the way it seeped through his shirt, branding me, making it impossible to think of anything but him.

This was a mistake.

A teasing taste of everything I had spent years trying to forget.

And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

Because here, in this kiss, there was no betrayal. No lies. No heartbreak.

There was only Kyle.

Only his mouth on mine, his hands gliding up my sides, his need mirroring my own.

I hated him for this.

For making me feel things I had spent years trying to bury.

For kissing me like he still had the right to.

Like he knew every part of me, every weakness, every crack in my armor—and wasn’t afraid to use it.

His fingers tangled in my hair, angling my head as he deepened the kiss, taking more, demanding everything. I gave it. I had no choice.

Gods, yes. Deeper. More. I can’t get enough. I’ll never get enough.

Heat arced between us, growing hotter with every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue. The tension coiled deep inside me, liquid fire searing through my veins, leaving chills in its wake before settling in a place I refused to name.

Kyle knew exactly how to sate this need.

He had always known.

He had the maddening ability to addict and satisfy all in the same breath, to unravel me with nothing more than a touch.

My hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer as his lips trailed down my jaw, moving lower, exploring the delicate curve of my throat. My pulse leaped when he found that sweet spot just beneath my ear—the one he had memorized too well.

His teeth scraped against my skin, and I gasped, my body arching into him on instinct.

I was melting.

Dissolving.

Losing myself in him.

“Gods, I’ve missed the taste of you,” he murmured, his voice rough and needy against my skin. He kissed the spot again, slow and deliberate, making my stomach tighten, making my thoughts blur. “The feeling of you in my arms.”

A tremor ran through me, my grip tightening. My heart pounded so hard I swore he could feel it.

I reached for his face, cupping it between my palms as I pulled him back to my lips. His breath hitched the second our mouths met again, and then he was kissing me like he couldn’t help himself, like stopping wasn’t even an option.

He sucked my tongue into his mouth, and I whimpered against him, my body burning, my mind screaming at me to stop this before it was too late.

But it already was.

Because I had missed him.

Missed the way he tasted, the way he kissed, the way his hands felt against my skin like he was relearning every inch of me, reacquainting himself with a body he once knew better than his own.

I had missed everything.

The slant of his mouth over mine, again and again, made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt since our last meeting at the pool.

It awakened something in me, something raw and desperate and aching for more. Like I had been starved for touch, for warmth—for him—and now that I had it, I didn’t want to let go.

His hands moved, sliding over my waist, fingers pressing into my skin in a way that made my breath hitch. Then they drifted higher, slipping just beneath the hem of the jacket, the tips of his fingers barely grazing the underside of my breasts.

A shudder ran through me.

Fuck it.

The jacket can come off. The top, too. Everything that separated me from him, from this, was suddenly in the way.

I didn’t care anymore.

I just wanted him. Now. Here.

Maybe the regrets could come later. Maybe they wouldn’t come at all.

I really don't care.

I reached for his shirt, hands sliding over the firm expanse of his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, ready to strip him bare.

But just as I started to pull it up, he slowed the kiss.

From urgent and deep to thorough and devastatingly slow.

Each brush of his lips lingered, each drag of his tongue deliberate, until I was dizzy, drowning in him, in his scent, in the unbearable warmth of his body against mine.

And then, with a breathless exhale, he murmured against my mouth—

“We should stop.”

My entire body went still.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, my breath coming fast, my skin tingling everywhere he had touched me. “What if I don’t want to?”

The sound that left me was pure denial, a desperate little noise that I hated myself for making. I wasn’t ready for this to end. Not yet. Not when I had just started breathing again.

Not when the thought of returning to reality—a reality where we weren’t together, where I was the one standing in our way—felt like a death sentence.

His gaze softened, filled with something heavy, something that made my heart clench. “We have to.”

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. “Why?”

His hands, still gripping my waist, flexed. “Because I don’t want you waking up tomorrow looking at me like this was a mistake.” His fingers drifted lower, over the curve of my ass, gripping, squeezing, branding me with his touch. His lips pressed against mine again, slow and lingering, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I don’t want you looking at me with regret.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead against mine, breathing deep. “Fuck, I want you so bad, Freckles.”

I shivered. Not from cold. But from that voice, the way it wrapped around me, rich and dark and so full of need that it sent heat coiling in my belly.

“Then don’t stop.” I reached for him again, fingers threading into his hair as I met his eyes, making sure he saw just how much I meant it. “We can do this now and forget about it later.”

Kyle’s body tensed, his jaw clenching. Fighting himself. Fighting me.

And then, with a sound that was part moan, part plea, he exhaled, his grip tightening.

“Ashley,” he murmured, eyes heavy-lidded, tormented. “You have no fucking idea how badly I want to peel these pants off your amazing ass and take you until you’re hoarse from screaming my name.” His lips brushed against my jaw, his breath scalding. “Until you’re so limp from pleasure that you can’t even fathom leaving your bed again.”

Gods.

His words set my skin on fire.

His hand slid from behind my head to the nape of my neck, tilting it, exposing more of me to his mouth, his touch.

He kissed the underside of my jaw, trailing his lips lower, and I melted into him, my fingers curling into his shirt, fisting it, holding on like he was the only thing keeping me from shattering into a million pieces.

His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper, laced with something raw, something dangerous.

“Until you forgive me for everything I’ve ever done to you.”

My breath hitched.

He dragged his lips up to my ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before whispering, “Until you come back to me.”

A strangled sound left my throat, my body betraying me, shivering against him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hand still at my nape, thumb brushing against the rapid pulse at my throat.

A war raged in his eyes.

A battle between wanting me and wanting to do the right thing.

I hated that. I hated that he was the one who had the strength to pull away when I was too far gone to even think about stopping.

I wanted to tell him that I wouldn’t regret this. That I couldn’t.

That the only thing I would regret was if he let go.

But before I could find the words, his lips found mine again in a slow, drugging kiss, one that was so sweet, so devastating, it nearly brought me to my knees.

And then, just as I started to fall all over again—

He stopped.

His forehead pressed against mine, his breathing ragged.

And with one last kiss, one last whisper of lips over lips, he said—

“Not like this.”

Not yet.

And just like that, the moment shattered.

.