The cottage feels smaller suddenly. More intimate. The lamplight throws soft shadows, and I'm acutely aware of how close we're standing. How her breath has gone slightly uneven. How my pulse is doing things it shouldn't be doing when we're just talking about money.
"I should go," she whispers, but her feet stay planted.
"You should," I agree, and step closer instead of back.
Her eyes go wide—those pale blue depths that catch light like winter ice. "Draco—"
I frame her face with my hands, giving her every chance to pull away. She doesn't. Just leans into my touch, her lips parting on a shaky exhale.
"One more thing," I say, voice rough.
"What?"
I kiss her.
Not gentle this time. Not testing. This is want made physical—days of building tension, of stolen glances and accidental touches and the constant awareness that simmers between us. Her mouth opens under mine with a sound that's half gasp, half surrender, and, Goddess help me, I'm lost.
She drops the envelope. It hits the floor with a dull thud, but neither of us cares because her hands are fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I'm backing her up until her shoulders hit the wall beside the fireplace.
"We should—" she starts, but I swallow the words with another kiss, deeper this time, tasting the tea we shared earlier and something sweeter underneath. Something purely her.
Her fingers slide into my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp, and I nearly lose the thin thread of control I'm clinging to. I press against her—not hard enough to trap, just enough that she can feel every line of my body against hers—and she makes that sound again. That broken little gasp that makes me want to forget every reason this should stop.
My hands find her waist, slide under the hem of her sweater to bare skin, and she arches into the touch. Warm. Soft. Perfect.
"Draco," she breathes against my mouth, and I've never heard my name sound like that before. Like prayer and plea and promise all at once.
I break the kiss long enough to trail my mouth along her jaw, down the column of her throat, feeling her pulse hammer against my lips. She tilts her head back, giving me access, and I take it greedily—learning the taste of her skin, the spots that make her shiver, the way shewhispers my name when I find the place where her neck meets her shoulder.
Her hands slide under my shirt, fingertips skating across my ribs, and I have to press my forehead against her shoulder to catch my breath.
"We need to stop," I breathe, biting back the urge to drag her closer.
"Why?" Her fingers dig into my back, holding me close.
"Because if we don't stop now, I'm going to forget you need to sneak back to your parents' house before they send a search party. And I'm going to forget that Lucky is watching us with judgmental dog eyes. And I'm definitely going to forget that we're supposed to be taking this slow."
She laughs—breathless and beautiful. "Who said anything about slow?"
"Me. Just now." I force myself to step back, putting distance between us before I change my mind. "You should go. Before I lose what's left of my sanity."
She's gloriously disheveled—hair coming loose from her braid, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. The sight of her nearly undoes me all over again.
She scoops up the envelope, retreats to her room, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the sound of metal on metal when the safe closes.
"Tomorrow," she says, when she emerges from her room. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," I confirm. "And we'll work on the rest of your city education."
She moves toward the door, then turns back. "That kiss—"
"Was a promise," I finish. "Of what happens when we have time and privacy and no parents waiting."
Her smile could light the whole estate. "I'll hold you to that."
"I’ll count on it."
She blushes, then slips out into the night, leaving the air around me tasting like her. She looks back once—I can see her silhouette turn—and I lift my hand in a small wave.
