Deep.
Like sunrise.
Like waking up twice.
Like the kind of kiss that says something without saying anything at all.
I melted.
Completely.
Shamelessly.
We kissed like we were younger and freer and totally undone laughing between breaths, bumping noses, stealing more because we could, because neither of us wanted to stop.
Like we are learning the shape of each other’s mouths, the taste of toothpaste and coffee morning breath gone, the heat of our skin under the rising sun.
The yacht rocks gently beneath us, and the whole world narrows down to the press of his lips and the slide of his thumbs and the ocean singing beneath our feet.
He deepens the kiss. I melt into it. Into him.
It’s sensual but not rushed.
Patient.
Learning.
Relearning.
Finding each other all over again.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and smiling.
“Breakfast?” he asks, voice warm with teasing.
“More kissing first,” I say.
He laughs, leaning in again. “Whatever you want, Peach.”
We kiss like teenagers giddy, hungry, laughing against each other’s mouths, bumping noses, sharing smiles. The wind tangles my hair in his fingers, and he doesn’t even try to fix it.
Breakfast tasted like heaven and sin and sunlight.
He fed me bacon. I stole his fruit. He poured me coffee, and I drank it like it was holy. Every few minutes he leaned in for another kiss, quick ones, slow ones, soft ones, like he needed to keep confirming I was real.
We talked about everything and nothing.
His shipping company.
His plans for expanding routes.
The asshole board member he’s going to fire.
My pending divorce.
The article.
How behind I was.
