JUNE – POV
"I wished it was you," I whispered.
And the second I said it—his mouth was on mine.
There was nothing gentle about it. Nothing sweet.
It was a collision. A fucking firestorm.
Possessive. Unforgiving. As if he was trying to erase every trace of last night from my lips. Replace it with him. His tongue pushed past mine, desperate and bruising. His hands gripped my waist, my hips, like he was barely holding himself back.
I clung to his hoodie, trying to remember how to breathe.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
This couldn't happen.
But god, I needed it.
Because everything had become a lie except this—except the burn of his mouth and the rage in his kiss and the way I wanted to cry and scream and melt into him all at once.
"You're mine," he whispered against my lips, raw and bitter. "Even if you hate it. Even if you fight it. Even if we keep pretending it's fake."
He kissed me again, harder this time. Rough and aching. My head spun.
