You barely made it through the door before the tension snapped.

Farkle’s eyes were on you the second the others disappeared into their rooms. You didn’t say a word—just let the silence stretch as you crossed the room, his shirt hanging loose on your body, bare legs stealing every ounce of his focus.

“This is what Josh wanted,” you murmured, standing in front of him. “He wanted us to stop pretending.”

Farkle swallowed hard, gaze flicking from your lips to your eyes. “Do you want to stop?”

You stepped between his legs, hands curling in the fabric of his tee. “I haven’t wanted to pretend in a long time.”

The moment his mouth met yours, it was heat and urgency and want, pouring from every movement. His hands gripped your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt, thumbs dragging along your sides like he was learning you by feel.

You straddled him without hesitation, knees bracketing his hips, grinding down just enough to feel the sharp intake of his breath against your neck.

He groaned your name, voice low and wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled against his jaw. “Then die happy.”

Clothes peeled away—slow at first, then rushed. His hands were everywhere—tracing your spine, cupping the back of your neck, dragging down your thighs. Your shirt hit the floor and his lips followed, worshiping every inch of exposed skin like he’d dreamed of this a thousand times.

You gasped when his mouth closed around the sensitive spot just below your collarbone, nails raking gently across his back as he laid you out beneath him.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, hovering over you.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” you breathed.

That’s when he lost the last bit of restraint.

Bodies pressed tight, skin to skin, the air between you turned thick with breathless moans and desperate touches. His mouth devoured yours, slow and deep, while his hands explored every curve like you were the only thing that mattered. And when you pulled him closer, begging without words, he gave you exactly what you needed.