She makes a quiet noise against my lips—surprised, wanting—and every part of me goes sharp and alive.
I slide a hand to her jaw, and she leans into it like she’s been waiting for someone to touch her gently.
She kisses me back with this raw, honest hunger that drives the breath from my lungs.
I pull her in without thinking, the world narrowing to heat and breath and the tiny gasps she makes when my thumb brushes her cheek.
When we finally break away, we stay close—foreheads touching, breaths tangled, hearts hammering.
She laughs softly, the sound a little breathless.“Well. That… happened.”
“I’ll say,” I murmur, and my voice is embarrassingly low.
She looks up at me with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, all softness and fire wrapped together, and it hits me like a bloody truck:
I’m falling for her. Hard.
“Ethan,” she whispers, like she’s testing my name in this new context. “I… really liked that.”
My chest tightens in a way I haven’t felt in years.
“I really liked that too.”
There’s no fear in her expression.
No pulling away.
Just warmth. Curiosity. A quiet, blooming want she’s not bothering to hide.
And when she leans into me again—just enough to rest against my shoulder—I let out a slow, steady breath and wrap my arm around her.
Natural.
Easy.
Right.
No flinching.
No break in the moment.
Just two people wanting each other without overthinking the consequences.
I lean back to look at her, and I can’t help myself. I lean in and take her lips once more. This time, I take more from her, dragging my tongue across her lips, and she meets me with the tip of hers.
She tastes like chamomile and rain.
She makes a small, broken sound as her fingers curl into my shirt.
I don’t know who moves first, but we’re closer in an instant—her thigh brushing mine, her chest pressed lightly to me, the kiss deepening like a wave pulling us both under.
And God.
I’m gone.
Completely, helplessly gone.
When we finally break apart, she keeps her forehead against mine, breath uneven, lips still trembling.
