"Tyler—"
"I don't want to talk about it." I push off the doorframe and move into the small space. "I just need?—"
I don't finish the sentence because I don't know how to finish it. I need to hit something. I need to scream. I need some kind of outlet for this rage that's been building for months.
I need her.
Nora's watching me, and I can see the exact moment she realizes how close I am. How small this room is. How the air between us is charged with something that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with months of wanting.
"Ty." My name on her lips is barely a whisper. "What do you need?"
You. I need you. I've needed you for months, and I'm tired of pretending I don't.
"Red." My voice comes out rough, wrecked. "If you don't want this, you need to tell me to leave right now."
For a moment, neither of us moves. She could stop this. Should stop this, probably—we need to talk first and figure out what this means, what happens after.
She’s staring at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and I can see the war happening behind her eyes.
But then something in her expression shifts.Settles. Decides.
"What if I don't want you to leave?"
That's all the permission I need.
I close the distance between us in two steps, my hands cupping her face, and I kiss her like I've been dying to for months.
She makes this sound, half gasp, half moan, and then she's kissing me back just as desperately, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer.
It's not gentle. It's months of tension exploding, all the wanting and yearning and desperate need we've been holding back finally breaking free.
My hands slide into her hair, tilting her head back so I can kiss her deeper, and she arches against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine.
"Fuck," I breathe against her mouth. "Red, I?—"
"Don't stop." She's pulling at my shirt, trying to get it off. "Please don't stop."
I help her, yanking my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me. Her hands are on my chest immediately,exploring, and when her fingers brush over my bruised ribs, I wince.
"Sorry—"
"Don't care." I capture her mouth again, walking her backward until she hits the dryer. "I've wanted this for so long."
"Me too." She's breathless, her pupils blown wide. "God, me too."
I lift her onto the dryer, stepping between her legs, and the position puts us at the perfect height. Her hands are in my hair now, tugging, and I'm kissing down her neck, tasting her skin, feeling her pulse racing under my lips.
My hands slide under her shirt, pushing it up, and she helps me pull it off. Her bra is simple, pale pink, and when I unclasp it and toss it aside, the sight of her bare in front of me makes me groan.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I murmur, my hands covering her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples.
She gasps, arching into my touch. "Tyler?—"
I lower my head, taking one nipple into my mouth, and she moans my name. I work her with my tongue and my teeth, switching between both breasts until she's writhing against me.
"Tyler." She tugs my hair, making me look at her. "I need to tell you something."
"Tell me later."