Her nearness pressed in—the faint scent of soap on her skin, the warmth radiating between us, the hush of her breath mingling with mine.My heart thundered like I was back in the desert, waiting for the next strike, except this battle wasn’t outside me.It was in my chest.
For one fragile second, the world stilled.Just her hand on mine, her eyes steady, her presence filling the shadows I’d thought I wanted to keep.
And for that second, I let myself believe the lie—that she belonged here.With me.
The silence pressed in thick, heavier than any battlefield smoke.Her face was too close, her breath ghosting warm against mine.My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out reason.
I clenched my jaw, trying to force the words through teeth that didn’t want to part.“This is a mistake.”
Her eyes softened, steady and unafraid.And then, almost like a challenge, she whispered, “Then make it.”
The restraint I’d been clinging to shattered.
With a sound that was half-growl, half-surrender, I closed the distance, crushing my mouth to hers.The kiss was nothing gentle.It was raw, hungry, desperate—a dam bursting after too many years of silence.All the bitterness I’d carried, the loneliness that had wrapped tight around my bones, unraveled in that one reckless moment.
She didn’t push me away.She leaned into it, into me, her hand finding my chest like she’d known all along I’d break.
Heat roared through me, fiercer than firelight, sharper than memory.My scars, my rage, my ghosts—they all fell quiet under the press of her lips.It was dangerous, forbidden, but I couldn’t stop.Didn’t want to.
I surged forward, closing the last sliver of space between us, and my mouth crashed against hers.It wasn’t practiced or gentle; it was rough, desperate, the kind of kiss pulled straight from a wound that had been festering for years.Her lips were softer than I imagined, warm against the harsh press of mine, and the contact sent a jolt down my spine, setting every nerve alight.My hand, traitorous and trembling, slid to the back of her neck, dragging her closer, needing her closer, like I could burn the loneliness out of me through sheer force.
She didn’t resist—God help me; she kissed me back.The moment she leaned in, everything I’d been trying to bury roared free.Her fingers clutched at my shirt, anchoring herself to me as though she feared I’d pull away, and the sound she made—half-breath, half-plea—tore right through the armor I’d lived behind.I tilted my head, deepening the kiss, taking more than I should, greedy with years of silence and self-denial.The taste of her—sweet, alive, human—wasn’t just on my tongue, it was seared into my chest, into the places I thought were long dead.
By the time I finally broke away, I was panting, my forehead pressed to hers, the ghost of her lips still sparking against mine.My whole body shook, a man undone by something as simple, as impossible, as a kiss.Her eyes met mine—bright, fearless, searching—and I hated myself for it, because I wanted more.I wanted her laughter in my kitchen, her warmth in my bed, her light in the ruins of me.And in that moment, I knew the truth: I hadn’t kissed her to silence her.I’d kissed her because I couldn’t not.
The taste of her was still on my lips when I tore myself back, breath ragged, guilt clawing sharp in my chest.My hands dropped as if burned, and I stumbled a step away, shaking my head like I could undo what had just happened.
“I can’t—” The words rasped out, harsher than I meant.My throat tightened, the weight of it pressing down hard.“This can’t happen.”
I tried to retreat, to rebuild the wall in the space of a heartbeat, but she didn’t let me.
Her fingers caught my sleeve, the grip small but unyielding, and when I looked down, her eyes were blazing.Fierce.Steady.Not an ounce of fear in them.
“Stop hiding,” she said, her voice trembling at the edges but stronger than steel.“I’m not afraid of you.”
The words hit harder than any bullet ever had.My chest heaved, lungs fighting for air, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the storm outside.I couldn’t answer.Couldn’t form the words that would push her back, keep her safe, keep me locked in the shadows where I belonged.
Because in that moment, standing in the half-light with her hand clutching my sleeve, I felt the walls of my fortress collapse around me.Every excuse, every bitter story I’d told myself, crumbled under the weight of her defiance and her tenderness.
And I hated it.
And I wanted more of it.
So I stood there, paralyzed between ruin and salvation, caught by a girl who should have run, who should have left me to rot in my solitude.
But instead, she held on.
And I was too weak to pull away.
Her grip on my sleeve didn’t loosen, not even when I tried to step back.Those eyes of hers held me pinned, unflinching, burning right through every scar I wore inside and out.I should’ve walked away.I should’ve shoved her hand off and slammed the door between us.
Instead, I leaned in.
Her lips found mine again—this time not with hunger or rage, but with something worse.Something gentler.The softness of it undid me more than the first.Her warmth seeped past every defense I’d spent years building, curling into the cracks, settling deep in the hollow places I thought would stay empty forever.
I kissed her back before I could stop myself.Slow, tentative, terrified.My hand rose, trembling, to cup her cheek, and she leaned into it like she’d been waiting for me all along.
The firelight flickered across us, the storm howling at the windows, and for a moment I let myself drown in her.
