One second, I’m propped on my elbow. The next, I’m against his chest, his hand in my hair, mouth on mine.
The kiss is fierce. Hungry. Full of desperate need that steals the breath from my lungs.
I should pull away. Should shake him awake. Tell him this isn’t real, that he doesn’t know what he’s—
His tongue slides against mine, and thought evaporates.
Heat floods through me like wildfire. Every nerve ending lights up. My hands move without permission, fingers grasping his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing away.
Stop. Stop this.
But I don’t want to stop. God help me, I don’t want to stop.
He makes a sound low in his throat—half-growl, half-groan—and the vibration goes straight through me, settles low in mybelly, makes my thighs press together. My body arches into him, shameless, desperate.
This is wrong. He’s not fully conscious. He doesn’t know it’s me, doesn’t know what he’s doing—
His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my jaw with unexpected tenderness, and the contrast between gentle touch and demanding mouth undoes me.
The linen of his shirt is warm from his skin, thin enough that I feel the hard planes of muscle beneath. His heart pounds against my palm—too fast, too hard, like he’s running.
He’s asleep. He doesn’t know. This isn’t for you.
The thought should stop me. Should make me pull away, should inject some sense into the situation.
Instead, I kiss him back.
God help me, I kiss him back like I’m trying to inhale him. Like I’ve been waiting for this without knowing it. Like every lonely night, every time I told myself I didn’t need anyone, every wall I built… all of it was just waiting for someone to break through.
Even if that someone doesn’t realize what he’s doing.
His mouth moves over mine with simple certainty—someone who knows exactly how to kiss, how to make every nerve flare up. Heat radiates from him, sinking into my skin.
I’m melting. Coming apart. Every rational thought scattering under the weight of want and need and—
He goes completely still.
The shift is instant. Absolute.
One second, he’s kissing me like I’m everything. The next, he’s frozen, mouth still pressed to mine, but motionless.
Then he pulls back.
Just far enough to look at me. Toseeme.
Recognition floods his eyes. Awareness sharpening from dream-haze to terrible clarity.
I watch it happen. Watch the exact moment he realizes what he’s doing. Who he’s holding.
Me. Mara Jones. Random woman he pulled from a helicopter crash. Not someone he chose. Not someone he wants.
Just someone who happened to be there when he woke up confused.
Shock follows—raw and absolute, like I’m something monstrous he’s just discovered in his arms.
“No.” The word tears from him, guttural and wrecked. He releases me like I burned him, scrambling back until his shoulders hit stone. “No, I—”
I’m on my knees, breathing hard, lips burning. Watching him recoil from me like I’m poison.
