Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions Chapter 116

The moment Harley starts closing the gap between us, her torso pressing against mine, I feel the world narrow around us. The simmering heat between us intensifies exponentially as I breathe her in, her scent of jasmine and vanilla filling and flooding my senses, sharp and intoxicating and addictive. She’s close—a hairsbreadth from me—and yet, the lack of distance between us is still not enough. My right hand slips from her wrist and finds her hip, my left still banded around her lower back, but I hold back. I don’t want to rush this, even though every instinct inside me screams to pull her against me completely.

Lifting her hands, her fingers brush against my chest as she leans in even further, tentative at first, like she’s waiting for my permission, or maybe unsure of how far this will go. But the moment our lips meet, it’s like a spark igniting. The kiss starts off slow, testing even, but no less potent. I can feel the warmth of her mouth, the way her lips move against mine, hesitant at first, but then more confident with each passing second, as if she knows what she wants. And Goddess, I can’t get enough.

I want to take my time with her, explore the softness of her lips, but it’s impossible to ignore the rising tension inside me. My hands start to move, sliding over the curve of her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her clothes. My fingers linger, trailing up the smooth line of her back, feeling the slight shiver that runs through her when I touch her.

Her breath catches, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, my tongue brushing against hers, testing, savoring. But there’s a rawness to the kiss now—an intensity that surges through me as I grow more aware of every part of her delectable body. Of the feel of her pressed against me, of the softness of her skin underneath my fingertips, and of the way her body responds to my every touch. She’s drawing even closer to me, and I can’t stop myself from pulling her in, urging her against me.

My pulse spikes and I can feel the hardening of my cock as it pushes against her lower stomach. It’s impossible to ignore. I’ve been fighting my desire for her ever since I woke up in her living room, keeping it contained. But now? As she breathes and writhes against me? It’s breaking through in tidal-like waves. I’m fighting for control, but with every second that passes, it feels like my usually iron-shackled self-restraint is slipping away. I know I’m not going to last much longer if she keeps looking at me like this, if she keeps reciprocating my desire-filled kisses, if she keeps responding to my touch with that softness, that sweetness, that’s innately *her*.

A low growl slips from my throat, unbidden, and I hate that she can feel how much I want her. She might not know the depths of it, but I can’t mask it now. Not anymore. Not when she’s this close. My left hand finds her neck, my fingers brushing along her jawline as I tilt her head back with my thumb, giving myself more access to her. The feeling of her pulse beneath my fingers is almost too much to bear, yet not nearly enough.

I pull away from her just enough to speak, my voice low and hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” It’s not a warning; it’s a confession. The hunger I feel for her is raw, unrefined, and I can’t stop myself from leaning into her again, this time my lips brushing the soft spot on he crook of her neck where I would mark her, claim her.

Her breath hitches, and I feel the tremor that rushes through her body, and the urge to sink my teeth into her, to claim and own her, becomes almost overwhelming. My fangs ache like never before, but I restrain myself. For now.

She shivers when I lick the spot in her neck where I want to mark her as mine, and I hear her sharp intake of breath. My hands move again, the right finding her waist, the left pushing up and entangling into her hair, tugging her even closer. She’s breathing harder now, her chest pressing against mine, and I can feel the rapid beat of her heart against my breastbone.

But my own control is slipping. If I don’t stop soon, I won’t be able to hold back much longer. My hand tightens slightly around her wrist, while I reluctantly drag my mouth away from hers, resting our foreheads together, and I growl, barely keeping myself together. “Harley... If we keep going like this... I can’t be held accountable for what happens next.”

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, now more olive-green than jade-green due to the arousal that’s pulsing through her. The depth of her gaze tugs at something deep inside me, and I feel an electric jolt of desire. The heat between us is palpable, thick and pressing, as if the air itself is charged with the need to bridge the gap that’s between us. The world feels like it’s reducing down to just the two of us, to this moment—this choice.

Her breath—shallow and warm against my lips—sends a pulse of heat through me. Every flicker of her gaze holds the weight of her thoughts, but it's her eyes that tell me everything I need to know. There’s something wild, something untamed, in the way she looks at me. She’s teetering on the edge, ready to leap, but there’s also a hesitation that lingers in the corners of her eyes, as if she’s not entirely sure what the fall will feel like. That uncertainty only makes her more alluring, more tempting.

The silence between us stretches, the air thick with the temptation to let go completely, to stop fighting what has been building between us. But I can’t choose what happens next for her. I can’t push her into something that she’s not ready for. This has to be her decision completely. She has to decide how far she’s willing to go, and whether she’s ready to cross that line with me. I can’t do it for her, no matter how much my body aches to.

So I wait. My hands remain still on her waist and in her hair, the fingers on my right hand lightly brushing the fabric of her shirt, even though every part of me wants to pull her closer that last bit, to feel her body press against mine with no barriers between us. The weight of her gaze speaks volumes, conveying more than her words ever could. There’s something raw, something vulnerable, in the way she’s looking at me, like she’s already made the choice in her heart but is still unsure of how to make it real. I can still feel her pulse racing against my chest, a tangible echo of my own rising heartbeat.

For a long moment, we just breathe raggedly as we stare into each other’s eyes, the tension between us hanging heavy in the air, pressing down on us. I feel the pull, the raw magnetism between us, but I hold back, waiting for her to move, for her to decide how we’re going to bridge that last gap.

And I know, no matter what she decides, no matter what path she chooses to take, I’ll be right here, catching her, holding her.

I’ll always be here. And *that* promise feels as real as the pounding in my chest.