MEDINA POV
One more second in his strong arms and my brain was going to implode and turn into jelly, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. Nope.
I lifted my hands.
Placed them against his chest.
Felt his heartbeat—strong, fast, painfully alive—under my palms, drumming against my skin like it had something to prove, like it refused to slow down even now, even standing this close to something that could end it in a second.
And I paused.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to memorize the rhythm, to let it settle somewhere deep enough that I would recognize it again even in chaos, even in the dark, even if everything else went to hell.
Because I was a masochist, without any freaking doubt.
Then I pushed.
Not hard.
But firm enough to make a point.
Enough to remind both of us that
