The air in the room seemed to thicken, turning into a heavy, electric syrup that made every breath a conscious effort. Marcus’s hand remained locked in the hair at the nape of her neck, his thumb tracing the delicate line of her jaw. He looked at her, really looked at her, seeing the smudge of mascara and the raw, aching hunger in her gaze.
"You have no idea what you're asking for, Chloe," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that she felt in her own chest.
"I think I do," she whispered, her breath warm against his lips. "I've spent months pretending I didn't notice the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. I've spent years wanting to know if you felt the same thing I did."
Marcus stiffened, his eyes narrowing. "You think I’ve been looking at you like that?"
"I know you
