"That's all anyone can ask."
The tension between us shifts. Becomes something else. Something charged and electric, humming in the space between our bodies.
She moves first.
One moment we're sitting side by side, staring out at the city. The next, she's turning toward me, her hand finding my jaw, pulling me down to meet her lips.
The kiss is different from before. Softer. More deliberate. Like she's taking her time, savoring rather than consuming. I let her set the pace, let her explore, let her take what she needs.
When she pulls back, her eyes are dark. Wanting.
"I need you," she whispers. "Not because I'm broken. Not because I'm scared. Because I want you. Because you make me feel like I'm worth something."
"You are worth something." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "You're worth everything."
She kisses me again, harder this time, and I stop thinking.
My hands find her waist, pulling her closer.
She swings a leg over, straddling my lap, her fingers tangling in my hair.
The city stretches out below us, a sea of lights, and above us, the stars are scattered across the sky like diamonds on velvet.
"Here?" I manage, breaking the kiss just long enough to get the word out.
"Here." Her hands are already working at the buttons of my shirt. "I want you here, under the stars, with the whole city watching."
I should argue.
Should point out that anyone could come up here, that it's cold, that this is reckless and stupid and a dozen other things.
I don't.
Instead, I help her with the buttons, shrug off my shirt, pull her back against me.
Her skin is warm despite the cool night air, and when I slide my hands under her borrowed flannel, she shivers—not from cold.
"You're beautiful," I murmur against her throat. "Every part of you."
"Stop talking." Her voice is breathless. Urgent. "Just touch me."
I do.
I take my time, learning her body all over again.
The curve of her hip. The softness of her stomach. The way she gasps when my fingers find the places that make her shake.
She's responsive in a way she wasn't before—less desperate, more present. Like she's actually here, in this moment, instead of running from something.
She pulls at my belt, and I help her, lifting my hips so she can push my jeans down.
Then her hands are on me, stroking, exploring, and I have to bite back a groan.
"Ripley—"
"I want to feel you." She rises up on her knees, positioning herself above me. "I want to feel everything."
When she sinks down onto me, we both freeze.
