"Are at a sleepover.It's just us."
"Just us," she repeats, like she's testing how the words sound.
"Just us, Angel."
The last of her resistance crumbles.I can see it happen, see the moment she stops fighting what we both want and lets herself feel it instead.
When she looks up at me, her eyes are dark with want and vulnerability and years of suppressed longing.
"Show me," she whispers.
That's all the invitation I need.
The kiss starts gentle, tentative, like we're both afraid this might be a dream that could shatter if we move too fast.But the moment her lips part under mine, the moment she makes that soft sound of need in the back of her throat, gentle goes out the window.
This is years of wanting, years of careful distance and polite conversation and pretending we didn't feel the electricity every time we were in the same room.She tastes like coffee and something sweeter.Something that makes me want to forget every reason we shouldn’t do this.For a few minutes, I let myself believe it’s possible—her, me, this life.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I back her against the kitchen counter, my body covering hers.
"God, Angel," I groan against her mouth."I've wanted this for so fucking long."
"Me too," she gasps, and the admission makes something primal and possessive roar to life in my chest.
My fingers tangle in her hair, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss.She meets me stroke for stroke, her tongue dancing with mine in a rhythm that makes my blood burn.When I press my hips against hers, she arches into me, and I can feel how much she wants this, how much she wants me.
The soft moan she makes when I trail kisses down her neck nearly undoes me.She's responsive and eager and everything I've ever dreamed about, and the knowledge that she wants this too, that she's been thinking about me the way I've been thinking about her, makes me reckless.
My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her harder against me, so she can feel how much I want her and exactly what she does to me.
That's when reality crashes back in.
She goes rigid in my arms, her breathing harsh and panicked."Stop.We have to stop."
"Angel..."
"No."She pushes against my chest, and I immediately step back, giving her space."We can't do this.I can't do this."
"Why?"
"Because..."She's shaking, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair mussed from my hands."Because this can't happen.The children..."
"Are at a sleepover."
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
I do know it.She's thinking about stability, about what's best for them long-term, about all the reasons this is complicated.
But right now, with the taste of her still on my lips and the memory of how she felt in my arms burning through my veins, I don't give a damn about complicated.
"They love you," I say."They trust you.You really think they'd be upset if you were happy?"
"I think they've had enough upheaval for one lifetime."
"And I think you're using them as an excuse because you're scared."
The accusation hits home.I can see it in the way her face flushes, the way she can't quite meet my eyes.
"Maybe I am scared," she admits."Maybe I'm terrified of wanting something this much.Of caring about someone who could break my heart."
