The kiss is unhurried. Gentle. Exploratory.
Not heat.
Recognition.
When we part, my forehead rests briefly against hers.
“That,” he murmurs, “felt overdue.”
I let out a quiet breath that’s almost a laugh.
I kiss her again.
Not controlled this time.
Not restrained.
There’s nothing left to hold back.
Her hands come to my chest, gripping, grounding, and I feel the shift in her immediately—she leans into it, into me, like she’s choosing this just as much as I am.
Because she is.
Always.
I move my hand from her jaw to her waist, pulling her closer, and she doesn’t resist.
Doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t question it.
Her head tilts slightly, deepening the kiss, and everything else fades—the mission, the danger, the fight.
All of it.
Gone.
There’s only this.
Only her.
Only us.
When I pull back, it’s not far.
Just enough to breathe.
To see her.
Her eyes are different now.
Not guarded.
Not distant.
Open.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say quietly.
