I let my weight settle into one hip. Let my shoulders drop. Let my mouth soften the way it did when I forgot to guard it.
The camera clicked.
Once.
Twice.
Each sound felt like a touch.
His gaze never left me, even when he lowered the camera. He set it aside with deliberate care, like he knew if he moved too fast, something would break.
“You’re not hiding,” he said.
“No,” I whispered. “I’m not.”
The distance between us evaporated.
His hand came up slowly, hovering at my waist the way it had before.
I nodded.
His palm settled against me, warm and steady.
My body arched into it without thinking.
The contact sent heat spiraling low and sharp, my breath catching in a way that felt almost painful.
“Connor,” I breathed.
His other hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up. He didn’t kiss me yet. Just held me there, suspended, like the moment mattered more than what came next.
“This is where it changes,” he said quietly. “If we keep going.”
“I know.”
The kiss came then.
Not rushed.
Deep.
His mouth covered mine with a control that made my knees weak, like he was choosing every movement instead of letting it run away from him. I opened to him on instinct, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer without realizing I was doing it.
He groaned softly, the sound vibrating through me.
My back hit the wall. His body followed, close but not crushing, his thigh sliding between mine just enough to make me gasp.
Heat pooled everywhere.
Everywhere.
I kissed him back, harder now, need flickering sharp and bright. His hand slid from my waist up my side, stopping just below my breast, fingers splayed, possessive.
I wanted more.
God, I wanted more.
Not the frantic kind. The devastating kind that made time feel elastic.
