"We got the proof."
She looks up at me. Her eyes are bright. Fierce. Alive.
And suddenly the fear doesn't matter. The threat doesn't matter. All that matters is that she's here and safe and looking at me like I'm something worth keeping.
I kiss her again. Slower this time. Deliberate. Tasting the relief and triumph on her lips.
She melts into me. The papers fall to the ground, forgotten.
This time, we don’t stop.
The dumpster smells terrible, not helpful to the current mood. However, I am okay with it, because caring about it is too much trouble. Not with Maris pressed against the brick wall, her legs wrapped around my waist, her mouth hot and demanding on mine.
"This is insane," she gasps between kisses, her breath coming in short bursts against my mouth. "This is completely, we're literally behind a dumpster. An actual dumpster."
"Don't care." I kiss along her jaw, tasting salt and fear and something sweeter underneath.
"There's probably rats watching us right now. Multiple rats. A whole rat audience."
"Still don't care." My hands find her hips, hold her steady against the rough brick.
"Grath—" She tries again, but her voice breaks when I nip at her earlobe.
I kiss her harder. Swallow whatever protest she was about to make. Her fingers dig into my shoulders. She makes a sound low in her throat that shoots straight to my groin.
"We should go inside," she says, but her voice wavers and cracks in the middle, completely unconvincing even to her own ears.
"Should we?" I pull back just enough to look at her face. Her pupils are blown wide. Her chest heaves with each breath.
"Yes. Probably. Maybe." Each word comes out more uncertain than the last. Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
"You're thinking too much." I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. Watch her eyes flutter closed.
"Someone has to think." But even as she says it, she's leaning into my touch, turning her face to kiss my palm.
"Not right now." I capture her mouth again, swallowing whatever logical argument she was building in that clever head of hers.
I press closer. Feel every curve of her against me. She's so small. So fierce. So perfect.
Her hands slide into my hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands. She tugs hard enough to make me groan low in my ribs. The small bite of pain sends heat racing down my spine.
"You're going to be the death of me," she mutters against my mouth, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Good death." I mean it. If I died right now, crushed against this wall with her in my arms, I'd die happy.
"Terrible death. Embarrassing death. Death by dumpster in an alley behind a cat café."
I laugh against the curve of her neck, the sound rough and breathless. She shivers in response, her whole body trembling against mine. Her pulse hammers wildly under my lips when I press them to the soft skin of her throat.
"Maris."
"Yeah?" The word comes out shaky, barely more than a whisper.
"Stop talking."
"Make me."
So I do.
