My heart is pounding now, loud and relentless.
I lean down and kiss her.
The kiss is sweet and certain, and I try to pour everything I feel into it.
I’m not sure she understands.
So when I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers.
“So ask me,” I murmur.
Her fingers curl into my shirt.
“Ask you what?”
“What I feel.”
“Okay then,” she whispers. “What do you feel?”
“I feel happy when I’m around you,” I say. “And I can’t stop thinking about you when I'm not. Seeing you smile when I come home at night is the best part of my day.”
I keep going before she can interrupt.
“I feel… calmer when you’re there,” I admit. “Like the noise in my head goes quiet when you walk into a room. Like I don’t have to brace for something.”
Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t speak.
“When you’re upset, it messes with me. When you’re happy, it does too. I don’t like the idea of you not being in my life.”
I swallow.
“The house wouldn’t feel the same without you,” I continue. “I don’t want to go back to before. To coming home and not finding you there with paint on your hands and music playing.”
Her lips part slightly.
“So don’t ever assume you know how I’m feeling or what I want,” I say, my voice steady now. “Because you have no idea how much I want you.”
She’s gone quiet.
“Are we clear?” I ask, not breaking eye contact.
“Yes,” she whispers.
But she doesn’t move.
She just stands there, eyes locked on mine like she’s still trying to process what I just said.
I lean in and kiss her again.
My hands slide from her face to her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. She makes a soft sound against my mouth, her hands sliding up into my hair this time, holding on like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she loosens her grip.
I kiss her even slower. Deeper.
My tongue sweeps past her lips, the soft moan she makes sends blood rushing straight to my cock.
My fingers tighten on her waist, digging into the soft fabric of her shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath.
When I finally pull back, she looks dazed.
