Chapter 17 – The Moment He Stops Running
624 Words
The next morning, the apartment felt warmer, closer, like every wall remembered the way he kissed her. He was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter in a crisp button-down shirt, still slightly unbuttoned at the top. He looked calmer… but not truly calm.
Not with her around.
She walked in wearing one of her small, soft house shirts and shorts, pretending not to notice the way his eyes tracked the movement of her legs.
“Morning,” she sang lightly.
He hesitated before answering, “…Morning.”
She smirked. “You look tense.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered, turning away.
She stepped closer. “Sure you are.”
Her fingers brushed his arm—soft, slow, a little bold. He stiffened instantly.
“Lily…” he warned.
She leaned on the counter beside him and tilted her head up. “What?”
“You’re teasing me,” he said quietly, eyes darkening.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
His jaw clenched.
He was losing the battle already—and she knew it.
She poked his cheek. “Relax, professor.”
He grabbed her wrist gently but firmly. “Don’t call me that right now.”
“Why? Does it bother you?”
His voice dropped. “It does things to me.”
She blinked, heat rising in her chest. “Good.”
He inhaled sharply like she’d just lit a match in his lungs.
“Lily… stop playing with fire.”
She smirked. “Then catch me.”
He moved so fast she barely registered it—his hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against his chest. She let out a small gasp and he bit back a groan at the sound.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured against her temple.
She leaned closer, fully challenging him now. “Am I?”
He didn’t answer with words.
He kissed her jawline—slow, deliberate, warm enough to make her knees soften. Then her ear. Then the curve of her neck. She shivered, gripping his shirt as he dragged his lips along her skin like he had dreamed of doing it for weeks.
“Still think I’m teasing?” she breathed.
He kissed the spot beneath her ear. “You’re driving me insane.”
Her hands slid up his chest and his breath faltered. His lips traveled lower on her neck, each kiss deeper, hungrier, pulling a soft sound from her throat.
She was melting into him, his hands sliding to her lower back, drawing her closer—
And then—
A sharp knock at the door.
She froze.
He stopped kissing her… but unlike before, he didn’t pull away.
Instead, he lifted his head slowly, eyes still dark, lips inches from hers.
The knock sounded again.
He ignored it.
His hand came up to her jaw, guiding her chin to face him fully.
His voice was low, breath warm on her lips.
“I don’t care who that is.”
“Shouldn’t you answer—”
“No.”
He kissed her.
Hard.
Claiming.
Possessive.
Final.
She gasped into the kiss, holding his shirt tightly as he deepened it, one hand on her waist, the other on her cheek like he was terrified she would disappear.
When he finally pulled back—barely—his forehead rested against hers.
His voice was rough, honest, unfiltered.
“You are mine,” he whispered. “And no one else.”
Her heart pounded.
“And what if someone else wants me?” she teased softly.
His eyes flashed.
“I don’t care,” he murmured, brushing her lips with his again.
“I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”
The knock came again, louder this time.
He still didn’t move.
- Writer
