I reach out, brushing a stray curl behind her ear.She inhales sharply.Her eyelids flutter.
My hand cups her cheek without thinking, delicately, slow, careful.Her skin is soft beneath my palm, warm, familiar in a way that punches every ounce of air from my lungs.
“You always do that,” she murmurs.
“Do what?”
“Touch me like I’ll break if you press too hard.”
I swallow.“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“Kelly.”
She steps closer.
My heart stops.
She’s right in front of me now, close enough that her breath fans across my lips.Close enough that I can smell the faint hint of vanilla from her shampoo.Close enough that the heat radiating from her body sinks into my bones.
Her hand comes up tentatively, trembling slightly.
She presses her palm to my chest.
Right over my heart.
I flinch.
Not from pain.From recognition.From want.
“Why does this feel familiar?”she whispers.“Why do you feel like a piece of me I need to breathe?”
My voice is sandpaper.“I can’t answer that for you.”
“Then let me,” she hesitates, “try something.”
Her words barely land before she rises onto her toes.
Her lips brush mine.
Just barely.A soft, feather-light kiss that lasts a second and destroys me completely.
I go still.
She presses again, a little firmer, a little surer, like she’s testing the shape of something buried in her bones.
Her hand fists in the front of my shirt.A quiet, desperate sound escapes her throat.
And I’m gone.
Completely gone.
My hand slides behind her head, tilting her gently, and I kiss her back — slow, deep, careful but hungry in a way I can’t smother.She gasps into my mouth.Something inside me roars awake.
Her fingers curl around my neck, pulling me closer.I let her.God help me, I let her.
And then— I feel it.
