My gaze drops to her lips.Pink, parted, kissed once by me, and never again since I fucked everything up between us.Yet, they’re seared into my memory like a song I never got to finish writing.I want to press my mouth to hers and remember how she tasted back then, how we fit before everything cracked.I want to find out if she still sighs when her fingers curl into fabric, if she still kisses like she’s trying to memorize every part of you with her mouth.
The tension between us is wildfire-hot and relentless, something pulsing just under the surface—like it’s waiting for one of us to move first, to strike the match.It’s charged, consuming, a pressure that coils tighter with every breath.
I want her so badly it feels like punishment.
“Kit.”Her name scrapes past my throat like it’s been waiting there all day, raw and sacred and slightly fucking dangerous.
Her lashes flutter—just once—but it’s enough.Her jaw softens, barely, and I see it.That moment.The one where she lets her guard slip for half a heartbeat, and I can feel the yes beneath her hesitation.
So, I move in.Slowly.Carefully.Like I’m stepping across a frozen lake that could crack beneath me.
I hover there, my face close enough that I can feel her breath fan across my mouth.She smells like old vinyl and something vanilla-sweet and familiar, like the memory of a teenage summer you never let go of fully.
And when she doesn’t move, when she just waits as if her body’s suspended in that impossible in-between—I kiss her.
It’s soft at first.Barely a press.Just the heat of her lips against mine, dry and hesitant, but it feels like touching something sacred, something forbidden, something I’ve been starving for without ever realizing how deep the hunger went.
She exhales shakily, and her lips part just enough for me to taste her.
The world narrows.
There’s no store.No albums.No ambient street noise leaking through the windows.There’s just her.The tension in her spine dissolves.The sound she makes—barely audible, yet devastating.
The way her hand curls in the fabric of my shirt like she needs something to hold onto, like she might drift away if she doesn’t have me to keep her grounded.
And, fuck, I want to be that for her.
My hand lifts—fingers brushing the side of her face, tracing the edge of her jaw as if learning her again.Her skin is warm, smooth, trembling under my touch.I bury my other hand in her hair, needing to feel her everywhere.
I kiss her again.Slower this time.Deeper.Letting the kiss unravel in pieces—like a song stripped down to its barest chords—each second tasting of memory, of longing, of all the things I never said when I should have.
And then—she kisses me back.
She fucking kisses me back.
It’s not sweet.Not soft.It’s burning with urgency that mirrors the ache in my own chest.Like she's been waiting for this just as long as I have, like her mouth remembers mine even if the rest of her refuses to admit it.
It undoes something in me.
I could lose myself in her.Right here, surrounded by bins of forgotten albums and dust-covered speakers.I could back her into the wall without thinking twice, press my hips into hers, and feel how close we still are.
I could slide my hands beneath that faded tee and reacquaint myself with every inch of skin I've missed—trace the curve of her waist, the line of her ribs, relearn her with my palms and mouth until there’s nothing left between us but heat and history.
And I know she’d let me.
That’s what wrecks me most because this kiss isn’t about that.
This kiss is about all the years between now and then.
It’s about forgiveness I haven’t earned.
It’s about the ache of having her mouth on mine and knowing I almost lost the right to it forever.
But God—I want more.
My cock is already hard, pressing uncomfortably against my jeans, straining with every shift of her hips, every quiet gasp against my lips.And I bet she’s wet for me—fuck, I know she is.I can feel it in the way she leans in, in the way her breath stutters when I deepen the kiss.I want to slide my hand down, cup her through those soft, worn-in jeans, feel the heat of her and the way she’d pulse under my fingers just from being touched again.
I want to drop to my knees right here in this store, push those jeans down, and taste her until she’s shaking.
