My body crowding hers.
City noise fading into nothing.
Just us.
Her breath.
Mine.
My hand slid up, thumb brushing her cheek.
Slow.
“You done?” I murmured.
Her lips parted.
Eyes dark.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
That tiny word wrecked me.
So I kissed her.
And it wasn’t gentle.
Wasn’t cautious.
It was collision.
Her mouth crashed into mine like she’d been starving.
Like we both had.
Stoli Raz on her tongue. Strawberry gloss. Sweet and sharp and dizzying.
My hands found her waist and she felt impossibly soft—silk skin, coconut heat, summer bottled under my palms.
She fisted my shirt like I might disappear.
Like someone might steal me back.
The kiss went deeper fast.
Messy.
Breathless.
Teeth grazing. Lips chasing. No rhythm except want.
Not just attraction.
Not just lust.
Something heavier.
Like winning something you didn’t even know you were fighting for.
