"There she is," he says softly. "The woman who's been hiding under all that exhaustion and responsibility. The one who wants to let go."
"I don't know how."
"I'll teach you."
The promise in his voice makes me clench. I should push him away. Should tell him this is moving too fast, that I need time, that I can't just surrender everything to a man I met a week ago.
But when he leans in closer, when his breath ghosts over my lips, all I can think isyes.
"One kiss," he murmurs. "That's all I'm asking. One kiss, and if you want me to stop, I will. If you want me to leave tomorrow, I'll go. But I think we both know that's not what you want."
I open my eyes, meeting his gaze. Those winter-grey eyes that see too much, that strip away every defense I've built.
"One kiss," I whisper.
"One kiss."
But we both know it won't be just one.
He leans in slowly. His lips brush mine, soft at first, testing. I make a small sound, need, surrender, relief. That's all it takes. His hand fists in my hair, angling my head back, and the kiss deepens.
It's not gentle. It's claiming. Possessive. A brand being burned into my soul.
I kiss him back helplessly, hands coming up to grip his shoulders, pulling him closer despite the logical part of my brain screaming that this is a terrible idea.
His free hand slides down my side, settling on my hip, thumb stroking against bare skin where my vest has ridden up. The touch sends electricity straight through me, makes me arch into him, makes me forget every reason this is wrong.
He tastes like coffee and something darker, something dangerous, and I can't get enough.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, his grip on my hair not loosening.
"Still think you can send me away?" he asks, voice rough.
I can't catch my breath enough to answer. Can only shake my head slightly, trapped in his hold, trapped by the realization that everything just changed.
"Good," he murmurs. "Because I'm not going anywhere. Not without you."
Then he kisses me again, harder this time, more demanding. Claiming what's his. And I let him, because somewhere between opening the door and now, I stopped being Lily who struggles alone. I became Lily who belongs to Zakhar. Whowantsto belong to Zakhar, and terrifying as it is, I don't want to go back.
Zakhar
The second kiss is different.
The first was me claiming her, marking her, making sure she understood exactly what this is.
This one is her kissing me back.
Her hands slide from my shoulders up the back of my neck and into my hair, fingers tangling, pulling me closer even though I'm already as close as I can get without crushing her. She makes a desperate, needy sound, and it goes straight to my cock.
I've wanted this woman since the moment she opened the door. Since she looked at my blood-soaked body and didn't flinch. Since she patched me up with steady hands and told me I was an idiot for refusing a hospital.
But I need to be careful. My wounds are healing, but they're not healed. The one at my shoulder pulls when I move wrong, and the one at my side is a constant reminder that I'm not at full strength.
Lily doesn't seem to care.
She deepens the kiss, her tongue sliding against mine, and her hips shift forward, seeking friction. I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her sleep shorts, can smell her arousal mixing with the cherry scent of her skin.
Fuck.
