The Law of Love - chapter 2

“She can survive anything—except the woman who makes her want to live.”

Chapter Two — Broken Promises

I can feel my promises cracking long before they shatter.Her hands are on my hips again, steady and warm, guiding me through the music like she’s been doing it her whole life. The room is loud, bodies everywhere, but all I can focus on is the way she moves — slow, deliberate, like she’s aware of every inch of space between us and choosing to
erase it one breath at a time.I told myself I’d stop doing this. Stop letting attraction swallow me whole. Stop letting strangers become escape routes.But then she leans in, her long blonde hair brushing my cheek, and my resolve melts like wax under a flame.

“You’re staring, again,” she murmurs, her voice soft enough to be dangerous.I letting my fingers trail up her sides, bolder now, testing how far I can push before she stops me.

“You walk in here, tempt me and expect
me to behave?”
Her breath catches — barely, but I feel it. And it lights me up from the inside.

“You’re trouble,” she says, but there’s no warning in it. Just warmth. Interest. A pull she’s not hiding.I grin, leaning closer until my lips almost brush her jaw.


“You have no idea.”

Her hands slide up my back, slow and sure, and the contact sends a shock through me so strong I have to bite back a sound. She’s not even trying to be seductive — she’s just touching me, steady and controlled — and somehow that’s worse. Better. Impossible.
The music shifts, deeper, slower, and she draws me in until our bodies align. Heat floods through me so fast I feel a little dizzy. My fingers slip into her hair, and it’s soft, impossibly soft, like it was made to
be tangled in someone’s hands.She inhales sharply.
I feel it against my neck. My knees nearly give out.

“This…” I whisper, my voice shaking with the effort to keep it together, “should be illegal.”

Her lips curve against my skin. “What should?”

“This spark,” I breathe. “This… whatever this is. It’s too much.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her ocean-blue eyes steady and devastating. “You can walk away.”

I laugh — breathless, disbelieving. “You really think I
can?”

“You haven’t told me your name,” she says softly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

That should make it easier.
It doesn’t.Because her thumb is brushing slow circles at my waist, and her body is warm against mine, and every part of me is screaming to take her
hand and drag her out of this bar. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But my hands are already roaming — over her shoulders, down her arms, across the curve of her back.

She lets out a quiet exhale, and the sound hits me like a spark to dry tinder.
I want her. I want her so badly it’s almost painful.
I want to kiss her until the world disappears.
I want to feel her lose that perfect composure under my touch.
I want to forget every promise I made to myself. But I force myself to play it cool — barely.
I can feel myself sliding — not physically, but emotionally, mentally, in all the ways I promised I wouldn’t.

This is exactly how it always starts: a spark, a touch, a stranger who feels like gravity.

But this time… I don’t want to resist it.
I lift my chin, meeting her ocean-blue eyes with a
steadiness I absolutely do not feel. My heart is racing, my thoughts are a mess, but my voice comes out smooth, confident, almost commanding.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, letting my fingers drift up the
back of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath that waterfall of blonde hair. “If you come with me… I’m not going to pretend I’ll behave.”

Her breath catches — a tiny sound, but it hits me igniting a fire within. “And I’m done pretending,” I add, leaning in just enough that my lips brush the edge of her jaw without touching. “So if you walk out
that door with me, you’d better be ready.”

Her eyes darken, heat flickering through them like a
promise.“And if I don’t walk out with you?” she asks softly.

I smile — slow, wicked, entirely too confident for someone whose self-control is hanging by a thread. “Then I’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what your hair looks like spread across my pillow,” I whisper. “And I don’t think either
of us wants that.”

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The music pulses. The room spins. Her hand tightens on my waist.

I know I’m slipping.
I know I’m breaking every rule I set for myself. I know I’m falling straight back into the old
version of me. But right now?
Right now I don’t care. Because she leans in, her breath warm against my ear, and
murmurs:

“Then don’t make me wait.”

And just like that, I take her hand — bold, decisive,
pretending I’m the one in control — even though inside, I’m already undone.