That was all I needed.I stepped inside and shut the door behind me without breaking eye contact.The city vanished with the click of the lock.The air between us went tight, electric.
I didn’t speak.I crossed the space in two strides, cupped her face, and kissed her.
Hard.
Not desperate—but determined.Like a man planting a flag and daring the world to argue.She gasped against me, hands coming up automatically, fingers fisting in my jacket like her body remembered before her brain could catch up.
I felt her melt.
That was the moment I knew I hadn’t imagined it.That this wasn’t some one-night illusion I had built in my head to survive getting older alone.
She wanted this too.
I broke the kiss just long enough to press my forehead to hers, breath rough, voice low.“I had one taste of something good,” I muttered, the truth tumbling out of me.“And I’m not letting it go.”
Then I kissed her again.She didn’t stop me.Didn’t hesitate.
Her mouth opened to mine like it had been waiting.She kissed me back with heat and hunger that knocked the breath out of my lungs, her hands sliding under my jacket, palms flat against my back like she needed the contact to ground herself.
We backed into the living room without looking, knocking into the edge of the couch, a chair scraping softly across the floor.Her place was just like her—clean, intentional, nothing wasted.No clutter.No chaos.
Except for us.We were the whole damn storm of crazy.
I pushed her gently but firmly until she was sitting, then standing again, then pressed back against the wall.My hands skimmed her waist, her ribs, memorizing the lines of her through her clothes.Her head tipped back as I kissed down her throat, felt her breath hitch under my mouth.
“Dante,” she whispered my name as a warning this time.
I lifted my head, eyes dark.“Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.She pulled me back to her instead.That was all the permission I needed.
The rest of it blurred—not because it wasn’t intense, but because it was.Heat and movement and the sound of our breathing filling the room.Clothes discarded in a trail that led nowhere but into each other.The couch creaked.The wall pressed cool against my back at one point.Her nails dug into my shoulders like she was holding on to something solid.
There was nothing polite about it.
Nothing careful.
Just two people colliding with years of restraint burning off in seconds.I stayed present, grounded, making sure she felt me there—hands steady, mouth intentional even when the urgency spiked.When she made that soft, broken sound against my shoulder, I swore under my breath and held her tighter.
When it was over, we stayed exactly where we were.
Me on my back on the rug, her sprawled across my chest, skin warm, hair tickling my jaw.My heart thudded hard enough that I was surprised she didn’t comment on it.
I stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, feeling more alive than I had in years.
She shifted first, pushing up onto her elbows, eyes studying my face like she was cataloging damage.
“Well,” she spoke finally, voice light but eyes sharp.“That was a good visit, Dante.”
I felt it coming before she said it.“You should go to your hotel.”
There it was.My dismissal.
I turned my head to look at her fully.“No.”
Her brow creased.“No?”
“No,” I repeated calmly.“I’m staying.”
