He doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay locked on the photo.
“She was in my unit. Sharp. Brave. Had a laugh that could gut you.” His voice drops. “I didn’t tell her how I felt. Not until the last minute.”
“What happened?”
“Mission went sideways. She didn’t come back.”
The pain in his voice hits me harder than I expect. I reach for his hand. He lets me take it.
“You still think about her?”
He exhales through his nose. “She’s part of the past. I don’t carry her the way I used to. Just… respect. Memory. But this—” his eyes flick to mine, intense “—this feels nothing like that.”
My breath catches. The air shifts between us, charged and warm.
His gaze is darker now. Hotter. Like the grief cracked something open, and everything underneath is raw and real and pointed at me.
And maybe that’s why I kiss him.
Because he looks vulnerable in a way I don’t know how to resist. Because I want him. Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t.
The moment my mouth touches his, he responds like he’s been holding back for days. Weeks. Maybe longer.
It’s not gentle.
It’s all heat and restraint. Hunger and frustration. His hands grip my waist, dragging me into him. My fingers fist in his shirt. I rise onto my toes, chasing more.
When he breaks the kiss, it’s only to press his forehead to mine.
“Sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice rough with control, “if you knew the things I’m thinking, you would not be standing so close.”
I don’t move.
His thumb brushes my lower lip, slow and sure.
“You have no idea how hard it is not to pin you against something right now.”
My heart thunders. I swallow hard.
“I’m not stopping you,” I whisper.
He grins, but it’s not a boyish grin. It’s dark. Possessive. Hungry.
“You’re trembling.” His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers warm. “I like it. Means you understand what you just invited.”
My forehead presses to his chest as I try to breathe past the pressure building inside me.
And he waits.
That’s the thing. He doesn’t take. He waits.
Maybe that’s why I want him even more. Because if I don’t say it, he won’t move.
So I say it.
“Kiss me again.”
My hands curl into his shirt and I pull him back down to me.
