“Too late.”
For a second—
Just a second—
Everything else fades.
The mission.
The danger.
The storm.
It’s just her.
Just this.
And the way she’s looking at me like she’s trying not to feel something she already does.
My thumb brushes lightly against her side.
“Tell me to walk away,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t.
Doesn’t even try.
Instead—
Her hand fists in the front of my shirt.
And that’s it.
That’s all the permission I need.
I kiss her.
Not slow.
Not hesitant.
Nothing held back.
It hits like everything we’ve been holding in all day finally breaking loose at once—heat, tension, frustration, need.
Her response is immediate.
Fierce.
Like she’s done fighting it, she wants me as much as I want her. It’s always like this with us.
Like she’s done pretending.
Her other hand comes up, gripping my jaw, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
Yeah.
Definitely not pushing me away.
