Instead, she stands.
It’s not rushed. It’s not tentative. She steps closer until we’re nearly toe to toe, close enough that I can feel the heat of her, close enough that the space between us feels chosen rather than accidental.
Her eyes flick briefly around the room. Honey asleep. Hatchet still. Bones asleep in the bed beside her.
Still wish that was me,Silas mutters, not angry. Just honest.
Then she looks back at me.
“You. Here,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to sneak off. I don’t want to hide.”
I understand the choice immediately. Open. Deliberate. No shame.
She’s making a point,Donnelly says.Good.
“No hiding. Fine,” I reply.
I don’t move first.
She inhales, steadying herself, then shifts closer until she’s standing between my legs. Her hands lift and rest lightly on my shoulders, fingers warm, certain. The position does something dangerous to my focus – her this close, her body aligned with mine – and I feel it everywhere, a sharp awareness sparking low and spreading fast.
Careful,Silas says.This is not for us.
It’s not for us,Donnelly agrees.It’s for her. And we owe it to her to make it good.
I stay still. I don’t move.
Not yet.
She closes the gap, her warm breath brushing my lips before she kisses me. It’s soft at first – testing – then she tilts her head and deepens it, slow and deliberate. I hesitate for half a second before giving in, opening my mouth to her, letting her set the pace as heat curls low in my stomach.
I slide my hands to her hips without thinking, thumbs pressing lightly as if to check she’s real, as if I need the contact to reassure myself. She makes a quiet sound against my mouth, and I deepen the kiss in response, pulling her closer until there’s no space left to question what this is, only the heat and the slow, unravelling certainty that I don’t want her to stop.
She breaks the kiss first.
Not to retreat.
To breathe.
Her forehead stays pressed to mine, her breath uneven now, no longer careful. One hand slides up into my hair, fingers curling with purpose, tilting my head back just enough that I have to look at her.
“That’s not enough,” she says. Not pleading. Not uncertain. A demand.
The words hit low and solid, like a weight dropped onto my chest. I feel the immediate response – not heat exactly, but focus snapping tighter, something coiling and ready.
There it is,Silas says softly. Not disapproving. Just aware.
She’s done asking,Donnelly adds.
She kisses me again before I can answer, harder this time. No testing. No gentleness. Her mouth opens against mine, claiming space, pulling me into it like she expects me to meet her there.
I do.
The kiss deepens fast, control slipping not because I lose it, but because I allow the shift. My hand at her waist tightens, fingers digging in through fabric, anchoring her there. She makes a sharp, satisfied sound at the back of her throat and presses closer, unmistakable now in what she wants.
“More,” she says against my mouth. Not loud. Certain. “Give me more, Ghost. I want all of you.”
Something in me answers immediately. Donnelly doesn’t push. He steps forward like he was always meant to.
