Mila Wilson is quiet, anxious and a little bit of a mess. Panic attacks have ruled her life for as long as she can remember - but starting college is her chance to take control. Love? Not something she believes she's built for.
Then she meets Jace E...
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I shift in his arms, then slowly slide onto Jace's lap without breaking the rhythm of our kiss. The movement feels instinctive—like gravity is pulling me into him. Our mouths stay fused, tasting, searching, speaking in the language of forgiveness and want. But my shirt suddenly feels too heavy. The room is warm—no, roasting—with the heat radiating from both our bodies, and I can't bear it anymore. I pull back just enough, my lips trembling slightly from the intensity, and with deliberate slowness, I lift the hem of my shirt over my head, never once tearing my eyes from his.
Jace's gaze darkens instantly. There's a wildness in it—familiar and unspoken—the kind that's lived there since the beginning, like fire flickering behind his irises. His hands find my back almost automatically, trailing up my spine with slow, reverent fingers. Each touch sparks like static across my skin, leaving a path of heat in its wake. Then his arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me closer, almost as if he's afraid I'll slip away. Our lips crash back together—deeper and needier than before. It still isn't enough. Not nearly.
Without breaking the kiss, I reach down and tug gently on the hem of his shirt. It's wordless, but he knows. He always does. He pulls away just enough to strip it over his head, and I watch him, mesmerized, as the fabric hits the floor with a quiet thud. His tattoos come into view, inked stories across his skin I've only just begun to understand. I run my fingertips along the patterns, slowly, tracing the lines like they might spell out a map to who he really is. Jace shudders beneath my touch, and I see it—goosebumps breaking out across his skin, the way his jaw tightens like he's barely holding himself together. The control he's trying to keep only makes me ache more.
His eyes never leave me, not for a second. He's drinking me in, memorizing every breath I take, every way I move around him. And then he breaks. He reaches up and cups the side of my neck, fingers pressing gently into my skin, and draws me to him like he can't bear another second of distance. Our lips meet again, and this time it's desperate—hungry and raw and full of everything we haven't said out loud.
I wind my arms around his neck, pulling myself tighter against him until our bare chests touch, skin to skin. The warmth that spreads through me isn't just physical. It's grounding. Calming. Like for the first time in days, I've returned to where I'm supposed to be. This is home. Somehow, impossibly, it's him.
Jace pulls away only to lower his mouth to my neck, brushing soft kisses along the delicate curve. I gasp quietly at the tenderness of it, the way he seems to explore each inch like it matters. Like I matter. And then he finds that one spot—that one weak, electric place—and I gasp again, louder this time. He lingers there, lips teasing, then sucking gently, and my head tilts back before I even realize I've surrendered. My heart is a drumbeat. Wild. Relentless. How did he find it so fast? And how does he already know how to undo me like that? I need more of him, so I start rocking my hips back and forth slowly.
"Fuck," Jace whispers once I start doing so. His hands find their way to my hips, gentle and patient. He guides me slowly, syncing our rhythm like it's a dance only the two of us know. It's not rushed. It's not frantic. It's like we're learning each other in real time, mapping emotions through movement.
