I drag my lips along her jaw, tasting her skin, feeling her shiver. My mouth finds the pulse in her neck and I kiss there—slow, possessive—then pause when her breath stutters.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I murmur.
“It’s not,” she breathes, fingers tightening in my hair. “It’s… not enough.”
Jesus.
The words hit me like permission.
I lift my head, eyes locked on hers. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Mila’s gaze is wide, heated. “Then show me.”
The fire pops in the background like it’s cheering us on.
I slide my hand up her side, under the edge of her coat, palm warm against her back. Mila arches into the touch, a quiet sound leaving her that makes my control go razor-thin.
“You’re…” I swallow hard, searching for words that aren’t too much and finding only the truth. “You’re beautiful.”
Mila’s breath catches like she’s not used to hearing it said like that—like it’s a fact, not a compliment.
Her voice comes out small. “You’re just saying that.”
I still, lifting her chin gently so she can’t look away. “No.”
My thumb strokes her lower lip once, barely touching. “I’m saying it because I can’t stop thinking it. I’m saying it because I want you to hear it until you believe it.”
Mila’s eyes shine. “Beau…”
I kiss her again—slow, aching, like I’m trying to pour every unsaid thing into the way my mouth moves over hers. Her hands roam my shoulders, my chest, then slide under my jacket like she’s learning the shape of me too.
It’s been years since anyone touched me like they weren’t afraid I’d break.
I tug her coat off carefully and toss it over the back of a chair. Then my hands return to her—always back to her—cupping her waist, tracing the curve of her ribs through the sweater dress.
Mila’s eyes flutter closed as my fingers skim her, and the sight of it—her trusting me, giving me this—nearly drops me to my knees.
I pull back just enough to look at her. “You’re sure.”
Mila nods, breathless. “I’m sure.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then her forehead—softer now, reverent. “You’re not a mistake,” I murmur. “You’re not a distraction. You’re… mine to take care of if you’ll let me.”
Her lips part, heat flushing up her throat. “Possessive,” she whispers, like she’s half-teasing.
My gaze darkens. “Honest.”
Mila swallows. “I like honest.”
I guide her backward, slow, toward the couch—never breaking contact, never letting her feel like I’m moving too fast. We sink onto the cushions, Mila’s legs tucked beneath her for a second before she shifts closer, knees brushing mine.
The simple touch makes us both inhale like it’s too much.
My hands slide to her thighs, squeezing gently—grounding myself, grounding her. Mila’s fingers curl into my shirt, tugging me down.
We kiss again—long, deep, unhurried.
The kind of kiss that changes things.
