“A choice made with a clear head. Not just instinct. Not just adrenaline. Something you walk toward, not crash into.”
She stared at him because she didn’t have a response. Because she had never once been asked to slow down. Not by anyone. Not ever.
He eased back, giving her space she didn’t ask for, or didn’t want. “You can kiss me again,” he said lightly. “But not to win an argument.”
She made a face. “You really ruin the mood.”
“Only the reckless part of it.”
She sighed and then leaned in. Not hungry, not proving anything, just curious, and when their lips met, the room didn’t tilt, the world didn’t shake. It steadied.
His breath hitched.
Oh…that’s what he meant.
When she pulled back, he was smiling in that infuriating, gentle way. “Better,” he murmured.
She didn’t want to admit it, but yes, it was. “Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m still not done kissing you.”
“I never said you had to be.”
There was no rush, no power game, just a shared slow burn, and somehow, that was more satisfying than any fire she’d ever chased. But she was still Zara. Still quick with her honesty, still unbothered by his careful pacing.
“I want your tail,” she said plainly.
His head jerked back. “What?”
“You heard me.” She didn’t blink. Didn’t stutter. “That time was a revelation. And I’ve wondered how good it could’ve been.”
He frowned, guilt sliding in like a shadow. “That wasn’t right. I took advantage.”
“Stop.” Her voice cut clean, no softness in it.
He went silent.
“I think you forgot what actually happened,” she said, steady, looking directly into those molten eyes. “I was a willing participant. It was my being okay with everything that started it all. Not you tricking me. Not you pushing.”
He opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak yet.
“No one gets to rewrite my choices. Not even you.”
Her words didn’t shake. Her gaze didn’t waver. She had been so unsure of so many things in her life, but not this, not her desire, not her agency.
He held her gaze, his breath slow and conflicted. She could almost see the arguments building behind his eyes, the ones about age, and experience, and responsibility. The noble ones that annoyed her to no end.
But he didn’t speak them.
Because she didn’t look away. Because she refused to be treated like something fragile or naïve when she had known what she wanted from the moment she met him.
She leaned in, softer but still sure. “I wanted you then. I want you now. That hasn’t changed.”
His tail, coiled neatly around her, flicked once—sharp, involuntary, like her words had struck directly through his restraint.
He swallowed, voice lower. “I just…don’t want you to regret anything.”
“I don’t regret wanting you,” she said. “I regret you thinking you have to protect me from myself.”
She caught the moment something tipped in him. The heat and the hunger weren’t the surprise; those had been there before. But the edge of self-denial eased, just a fraction. He exhaled slowly. “You deserve someone who cares about more than the wanting.”
