Ford's jaw tightens. His gray eyes darken.
"Everything." The word is barely audible. "I want everything, Sera. And I don't have any right to want it."
The space between us shrinks to nothing.
The kiss isn't gentle.
I don't know which of us moves first. One moment we're standing apart, the weight of words unspoken pressing down on us both. The next moment his mouth is on mine and my hands are fisting in his shirt and the world narrows to the heat of his body and the taste of coffee and something darker on his tongue.
He kisses like a man who's been starving. No hesitation, no testing the waters. His hand cradles the back of my head while the other wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him until I can feel the solid muscle of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart, the evidence of his desire pressing hard against my hip.
I should stop this. I should remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Instead I open my mouth wider and let him take what he wants.
Ford groans against my lips, the sound vibrating through my whole body. His hand tightens in my hair, tilting my head back so he can deepen the kiss even further. His tongue strokes against mine with a confidence that makes my knees weak.
This is what I've been fighting against since the moment I stepped off that plane. This pull, this need, this desperate wanting that has nothing to do with logic or circumstance or thecomplicated web of debts and family obligations that brought us together.
This is just want. Pure and simple and devastating.
His hand slides down to grip my hip, fingers digging in hard enough that I'll have marks tomorrow. The thought sends a spike of heat through my core. I want his marks. I want evidence that this is real, that I'm not imagining the fire consuming us both.
"Sera." My name is a rasp against my mouth. "We should stop."
"I know."
Neither of us moves apart.
His forehead drops to mine, both of us breathing hard. His hands are shaking where they grip me. I can feel the tremor in his muscles, the effort it's taking him to hold still instead of pushing forward.
"If we do this..." He swallows hard. "If we let this happen, everything changes."
"Everything's already changed." I pull back just far enough to meet his eyes. The gray has gone nearly black with desire, his pupils blown wide. "The moment you kissed me, everything changed."
"You kissed me."
"I really don't think that's accurate."
The ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth, breaking the intensity just enough that I can breathe again. "We moved at the same time."
"Mutual destruction, then."
"Feels like it." His thumb strokes along my jaw, tracing the line of my cheekbone with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the hunger still visible in his expression. "I should let you go. Step back. Remember that you're not mine to want."
"And yet."
"And yet." He exhales slowly. "I can't make myself do it."
I should be the responsible one. Should be the one who creates distance, who reminds us both that this is temporary, transactional, doomed by circumstances beyond our control.
Instead, I curl my fingers into the collar of his shirt and pull him back down.
This kiss is slower. Still hungry, still urgent, but with an edge of exploration that wasn't there before. He maps the shape of my mouth like he's memorizing it. Tastes the curve of my lower lip, the corners of my smile, the sensitive skin just below my ear.
I gasp when his teeth graze my neck, and his arm tightens around me in response.
"Ford." His name comes out broken, desperate. "We should..."
