Then she walks over.Slow.Deliberate.Stops close enough that I can feel her breath.
"You really waited," she says.
"Said I would."
"Most men don't."
"I'm not most men."
"No."Her eyes drop to my mouth, then rise back up to meet my gaze."I don't think you are."
I push off the wall and close the distance between us until there's nothing but heat and intention."Tell me to fuck off if you want.I will."
"I don't want you to fuck off," she whispers.
The rain falls harder now, soaking into my shoulders, into hers.Her eyes are bright in the darkness, pupils blown wide, and I can see her pulse jumping in her throat.
"Your place," I say.Not a question.
"Yeah."She reaches for my hand."Come on."
* * *
Her flat isn't far.Third floor of a Georgian building that's seen better days.Peeling paint on the door, stairs that creak under our boots.She fumbles with her keys, hands shaking slightly, and I wonder if she's nervous or if it's just the cold.
The door swings open.She pulls me inside.
The flat's small.Tidy.Books stacked on a shelf, a blanket thrown over a couch that's seen better days.It smells like her, that citrus scent with something herbal underneath.There's art on the walls, prints I don't recognize, and plants in the window that somehow haven't died.
She drops her keys on a table by the door and turns to face me.
For a second, we just stand there.Looking.The air between us is thick, charged, and my heart's hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Then she steps forward, reaches up, and kisses me.
It's not soft.Not tentative.It's hungry, desperate, her mouth hot and demanding against mine.I groan, wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against me.She's tall enough that I don't have to bend much, and Christ, she fits against me perfectly.
Her hands are in my hair, tugging, and I walk her backward toward what I hope is her bedroom.We stumble through a doorway, mouths still locked, hands pulling at clothing.My jacket hits the floor.Then hers.She yanks my shirt over my head, her palms sliding over my chest, my shoulders, mapping scars and ink with her fingertips.
"Bed," she breathes against my mouth.
"Where?"
"There."
I look to where she points and see it, unmade, sheets tangled, pillows thrown everywhere.Perfect.
We fall onto it together, her beneath me, blonde hair spread across the pillow like a fucking halo.She's beautiful like this, flushed, breathing hard, eyes dark with want.I kiss her again, slower this time, tasting her, feeling her arch up into me.
Her hands slide down my back, nails scraping lightly, and I shudder.
This is happening.
This is really fucking happening.
I kiss down her throat, feeling her pulse race under my lips.She gasps, tilting her head back, giving me access.Her skin tastes like salt and something sweet, and I want more.I want everything.
"Tank," she whispers, and hearing my name in her mouth does something to me.It makes me want to hear it again, louder, broken.
