Chapter 11
998 Words
Amara
I should have walked away.
That thought came again, quieter this time, less urgent, like even my instincts were starting to lose their grip on what made sense.
Because standing here, this close to him, with everything that had just happened still sitting between us, walking away didn’t feel like the obvious choice anymore.
It felt like the harder one.
That was the problem.
I looked at him for a long second, really looked this time, taking in the way he held himself, the way nothing about him ever seemed rushed or uncertain.
Except… that wasn’t entirely true anymore.
Not after the balcony.
Not after the way his breathing had shifted when I touched him.
Not after the way his hand had lingered just a little too long.
There was something there.
Something controlled.
But not untouched.
I stepped closer.
This time, I knew exactly what I was doing.
His gaze sharpened immediately.
“You’re thinking too much again,” he said.
“Not this time.”
My voice came out quieter than I expected, but steadier too.
More certain.
I closed the remaining distance between us, close enough to feel the heat between us again, close enough that stepping back would actually mean something now.
His eyes didn’t leave mine.
“Then what are you doing,” he asked.
“Figuring something out.”
“And what is that.”
I didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I lifted my hand slowly, deliberately, giving him time to stop me if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
My fingers brushed lightly against his jaw, tracing the same line his hand had followed earlier, the same controlled contact, but this time…
It was mine.
His breath shifted.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
That was all I needed.
“You don’t like not being in control,” I said quietly.
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
His gaze darkened just a fraction.
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it.”
He didn’t answer.
Of course he didn’t.
So I pushed.
Just a little.
My fingers slid from his jaw to the side of his neck, light, not holding, not forcing, just enough to feel the tension there, the control that hadn’t quite slipped but wasn’t as effortless as it had been before.
“This is where you tell me to stop,” I said.
“You want me to.”
“No,” I said. “I want to see if you will.”
That landed.
I saw it.
Felt it.
The shift in his breathing, the slight tightening in his posture, the way his attention narrowed just a little more.
“You’re testing something,” he said.
“Yes.”
“That’s a mistake.”
“Then stop me.”
Silence.
Not empty.
Not passive.
Heavy.
Charged.
Because I wasn’t stepping back.
And neither was he.
My hand stayed where it was, my thumb brushing lightly against his skin, slow, deliberate, controlled in a way I hadn’t been earlier.
This wasn’t impulsive.
This wasn’t reckless.
This was a choice.
And I was making it.
“You’re not going to,” I said.
It wasn’t a question.
His gaze dropped to my mouth again.
That again.
That slow, deliberate look that made everything else feel like it had fallen away.
“You don’t know that,” he said.
“I do.”
“Then prove it.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Again.
Always again.
For a second, neither of us moved.
The tension stretched.
Tightened.
And then—
His hand moved.
Fast enough to surprise me.
Firm enough to matter.
His fingers wrapped around my wrist, not rough, but not gentle either, pulling my hand away from his neck just enough to break the contact.
My breath caught.
There it was.
Control.
Reclaimed.
“You don’t get to set the pace,” he said quietly.
My pulse jumped.
“Why not.”
“Because you don’t know where it leads.”
“Then show me.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
I knew it the second it left my mouth.
Because something in his expression shifted.
Not dramatic.
Not obvious.
But there.
Clear.
Decided.
His hand didn’t release my wrist.
Instead, it tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to make it clear that he wasn’t letting go.
“You don’t ask for things you’re not ready for,” he said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Yes, you did.”
My breath slowed slightly.
“You’re not stopping this either.”
“No,” he said. “I’m controlling it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
God.
The tension between us shifted again.
Closer.
Heavier.
My other hand lifted without thinking, pressing lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath my palm, not as calm as it had been before.
Not untouched.
That mattered more than it should have.
“You’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be,” I said.
His gaze held mine.
“Neither are you.”
That wasn’t wrong.
I didn’t deny it.
For the first time, I didn’t try to.
“Then what are we doing,” I asked.
The question felt different this time.
Less defensive.
More honest.
His hand finally loosened around my wrist, but it didn’t drop.
It lingered.
Just enough.
“We’re seeing how far this goes,” he said.
My pulse picked up again.
“And when does it stop.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth again.
That look.
That pause.
“That depends on you.”
There it was again.
That same answer.
That same shift.
But this time…
It didn’t feel like avoidance.
It felt like truth.
And for the first time since this started…
I didn’t push back.
I didn’t argue.
I didn’t step away.
I stayed exactly where I was.
And I didn’t pretend I didn’t want to.
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