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I want his aggravating questions and arrogant little smiles.

I want those stolen touches that have stopped feeling stolen.

I want to wake up and find him beside me.

I want him reaching for me because it's morning, because it's night, because I walked past him and he couldn't resist.

I want to know every version of this man.

And I want him to know me.

Fuck.

I love him.

The thought arrives whole.

No qualification.

No maybe.

No I think.

I love Mitchell Knight.

My heart starts pounding for an entirely different reason. He doesn't know.

I don't say it. I can't.

The words are too enormous for something I've only just admitted to myself. But suddenly they're everywhere.

In the way I touch him.

In the way my fingers curl against him like I can't bear to let go.

In the way I look into his eyes instead of closing mine.

In the way I say his name again.

“Mitchell.”

His forehead lowers to mine.

“I'm here.”

Simple, but those words nearly undo me.

Because I believe him.

Right now, I believe everything his body is telling mine. Every lingering touch. Every kiss that slows instead of demanding more. Every second he keeps those blue eyes locked on mine.

There's no room left for anything except us.

His hand finds mine. Our fingers lace together. He squeezes. I squeeze back. And that simple connection somehow feels as intimate as everything else.

My heart is right there. In his hand.

He just doesn't know he's holding it.