Rebirth: Love me Again

[LINA]

"You what?" My voice pitched up an octave. "You kissed me when I was asleep?"

He nodded, unapologetically calm. "Yeah."

"And I didn't know? All those times I fell asleep thinking you didn't care—and you were there kissing me?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to slap him or crawl under a blanket and scream. "That sounds borderline illegal, Dylan!"

His lips curved into a wicked, utterly unrepentant smile. "I know. But I couldn't help it. You were right there, looking so peaceful. So close. It drove me insane. Every time I walked out of your room, I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind."

I gaped at him, equal parts shocked and flustered. "You didn't do anything else, did you?" I asked, arching an eyebrow in warning.

Dylan's grin deepened, the kind that made me question all of my life choices. "Of course not," he said, but his eyes sparkled with teasing danger. "Unless you count the time I whispered 'I love you' into your ear and you smiled in your sleep. But if you want . . . I can turn those thoughts running through your mind into reality."

My face flushed. "Dylan!"

"What?" he chuckled, clearly enjoying this far too much. "I'm just obsessed with you."

Then, before I could even form a comeback, he leaned in and kissed me again—slowly, thoroughly, like he wanted to brand the truth of his words onto my lips. His hand cupped the back of my neck, anchoring me in place, as if daring me to pull away.

I didn't.

When he finally broke the kiss, we were both breathless, and I could barely remember what we were arguing about.

"You're insane," I whispered, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

He kissed the corner of my mouth and murmured, "Insane for you."

I shoved his shoulder lightly, trying to mask the flutter in my chest. "Still not over the fact that you drugged me though."

He laughed, low and warm. "Next time, I'll just ask you to fall asleep in my arms. No pills needed."

"Next time?" I repeated, pretending to sound scandalized.

He raised an eyebrow. "There will be a next time, right?"

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. "You're impossible."

"And you love me anyway."

"Unfortunately."

He leaned closer again, whispering against my lips. "Fortunately."

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.

Kissing him, everything else fell away.

My father. My brother. My mother. The world. There was only him.

His hands cupped my face like I was something precious—something fragile he was afraid to break.

And in that moment, I realized I didn't care what the world thought. I didn't care if my father disapproved, or if my brother tried to pull us apart. I didn't care if Dylan had nothing to offer me but his love.

Because that was more than enough.

I was willing to sacrifice everything—status, name, expectations—for the only person that I had wanted, waited for years.

Our lips moved in sync, slow and desperate, as if we'd waited far too long for this to happen. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him nearer than breath. He groaned against my mouth, his restraint cracking, his control slipping.

He pushed me gently to the bed, as though I might vanish if he let go. And in his eyes, I saw something I never expected to see—fear. Not of me, but of hurting me. Of rushing something sacred.

"You don't have to this if you don't want," he whispered against my skin. "I won't force you. Not tonight. Not ever."

I looked up at him, my heart thundering. "Who said I don't want this? I just . . . I want to feel everything with you. I want this. You."

That was all he needed.

His kisses turned deeper, slower, more reverent. Each touch spoke volumes—of how long he'd held back, how much he wanted me, how afraid he was to lose control, and how much more afraid he was to lose me.

His hands explored me like I was a map he'd memorized but still found new wonders in. His mouth traced paths of devotion across my collarbone, my shoulder, my wrist.

Time slowed.

We weren't just lovers that night—we were a confession years in the making. Every kiss, every sigh, every whispered name was the unspoken truth finally set free.

Wrapped in his arms, I wasn't just Lina Fay. I was his Lina. And he was mine.

He hovered above me, eyes locked on mine, his breath shallow and uneven. There was a storm behind his gaze—desire, yes, but also reverence. He was touching something he never thought he'd be allowed to have.

Me.

His thumb brushed my cheekbone, then my lips, tracing the edge like he was memorizing their curve. "I used to dream about this," he murmured, his voice gravelly. "Holding you like this. Kissing you without guilt."

"And now?" I whispered, trembling beneath his touch.

"Now I don't want to wake up."

His words unraveled something inside me. The ache I had kept hidden, buried beneath years of pretending and silence, bloomed into something too big to contain.

I reached for him, pulling him down, closing the space between us. And when our lips met again, it wasn't soft anymore.

It was fire.

Our kiss deepened, our bodies aligning as if they'd always known how to fit together. His hands slid under the fabric of my blouse, his fingertips warm and slow as they traveled over my skin.

Every brush of his touch left a trail of heat in its wake, and I arched into him, needing more.

But Dylan paused, hovering just slightly above me, his lips a breath away from mine.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice strained. "Tell me now, Lina. Because once I start, I won't be able to stop."

I cupped his face, drawing him closer. "Don't stop," I said. "Not tonight."

A sound escaped him—a mix between a groan and a sigh—and then his mouth was on mine again.