“Want to go outside?” he asked.
The sensible answer was no. But I followed him through the back door out into the cooler air, anyway.
The patio held two picnic tables. String lights sagged overhead, and the noise from inside dulled. Dane stopped just shy of touching me.
“Rowan.” My name left his mouth like a question.
I closed the distance. The first brush of our lips was tentative, the second sure, the third undoing. He kissed with a mixture of patience and promise. When I opened for him, heat poured through me so fast my knees softened. His hand cupped my jaw, his thumb stroking along my jawline and erasing all of my defenses.
“This isn’t a good idea,” I whispered when my lungs demanded we break our kiss.
“No,” he agreed, resting his forehead to mine. “But it’s real.”
And then, because I’d lost my grip on silence, I said the one thing I’d never intended to tell a single soul. “I haven’t… um, I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”
I braced myself for his pity, but found steadiness instead.
His breath caught, but his eyes softened. “That’s okay. You don’t owe me anything, Rowan. We can go back in, buy too many raffle tickets, complain about the band.”
“I don’t want to stop.” The words left me raw. “Not with you.”
He bent and kissed me again with a reverence so sharp it ached. A moment later, he was tugging me gently toward the lot.
“Let me drive you home,” he said. “Please.”
I nodded, not sure why I couldn’t seem to resist him anymore.
The ride through town was quiet. Main Street gave way to dark stretches of pavement lined with pines, the headlights sweeping shadows across familiar curves. My hands folded in my lap, disciplined, while my pulse drummed wild and out of control. His hand brushed mine once on the console. I didn’t pull away.
He parked in front of my house and killed the engine. Neither one of us moved. The air felt fragile, balanced on a choice.
“Rowan.” My name came out just above a whisper. “Tell me to leave, and I will.”
I opened the door. “Come inside.”
My house looked like me: neat, organized, and intentional. Coasters squared to the edge of the table. Books stacked in alphabetical order. It should have made me feel safe. Instead it felt stark with him standing in the center, larger than the space, carrying heat in with him.
“So, this is you.” He scanned my space without judgement. “Everything’s in its place.”
“Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to mess it all up,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
“You want to give up a little control?” His hand came to my cheek, his thumb skimming the line of my jaw.
“Sometimes,” I said. His closeness stole my breath.
He kissed me slowly and deeply, like every moment mattered. The cardigan slipped from my shoulders. His jacket landed on a chair. His mouth found the hollow of my throat and pulled a sound from me I didn’t recognize as my own. He froze instantly, searching my face.
“I’m fine,” I whispered. “Better than fine.”
He groaned softly and kissed me again, slower this time. His hands stayed careful, asking, waiting, never assuming.
When I reached for him, he met my gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The word came out strong and steady, anchored in the heat flooding through my system.
He kissed me harder then, pouring everything he’d been holding back into it. His hand swept along my waist, grabbing onto my curves with an intensity that made my knees buckle. He caught me, holding me like I was precious, not fragile. His breath stuttered against mine, but he didn’t push.
When his mouth found mine again, the kiss was hungry, open, and all-consuming. My pulse hammered against his touch. My body, so disciplined, so careful, betrayed me by arching closer, chasing the heat, surrendering to it.
