HERA
My mind was racing, every rational thought scattering like ash, yet I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t pull myself back, couldn’t pry myself off him.
I was supposed to be furious at Atticus, to despise him for the way he made me feel so unimportant, so insignificant. How he doubted me at every turn, pushing me away as if I were nothing but a complication to him.
Yet here I was, kissing him like he was the air I needed to breathe.
What the hell was wrong with me?
His hands were on my waist, fingers digging in as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting me go. His mouth was relentless, heated, moving over mine with an intensity that left me trembling.
It wasn’t gentle or soft; it was hungry, wild, and so damn raw that I felt every ounce of his anger, his frustration, his need—all of
