“You were gone,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, shirt rumpled, hair tousled.Soft.
His eyes flicker over me, searching, filled with sparks of grey and worry.
“I woke and… you weren’t there,” he says, quieter now. Slowly, his worry eases, like he’s just realising how quickly he’s reacted.
I wasn’t there, so he flitted, without question—to me.
Kane. Always so shadow-drenched and stone-faced. A flickering candle fighting a storm. Is standing here, faltering, looking at me like I might vanish.
But I won’t.
I step closer, rising onto my toes. “You’re so cute,” I whisper, gripping his shirt and pulling him down.
He doesn’t resist as I brush my lips against his. Slow and gentle, butsocertain. I’ll shield him from the rain.
His lips are still at first, surprised, then they’re not. Kissing me hungrily, as his hands slip beneath my shirt and cool fingers curl around my waist—cold skin against my hot.
Kane’s always so intense, and his kisses are no different. It’s like every one is our first and last.
When I pull back to breathe, he follows, crowding me until my back hits the wall, and his forehead rests on mine.
“You copied my folder,” I whisper. Then wince. Why did I say that? Especially afterthatkiss.
“We like the same things,” he murmurs, leaning in to steal my breath again.
I tilt my head away, and he growls.
“Did you… did you justgrowlat me?” I ask, stunned, and evenmorearoused.
“I’m not done.” He brushes his mouth over mine—once, twice… on the third caress, his tongue grazes my lower lip and I shiver.
“Please,” he whispers.
The growl. The soft touches. The pleading.
Thisman.
“Tell me why you copied,” I press, our lips skimming.
“I don’t have favourites.” His fingers brush my ribs.
“Things that you like, then.”
Silence.
But I know he isn’t being stubborn for once. His silenceisthe answer. He doesn’t think he has any.
I frown. “But what about the whiskey, and Martha’s pastries? You like them, right? And the quiet, clarity, structure…”
He’s staring at me, saying nothing, and now I’m worried I’ve somehow offended him.
“I mean… I think you like those things.” My eyes fall to the fallen tablet. “I wouldn’t know for sure, because you didn’t make a folder. Which is fine, if you think it’s stupid or—”
His fingers find my chin, tilting it up. “I like you.”
Just that.
Simple. Small. Everything.
