Her fingers curl slightly into my shirt.
“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
My jaw tightens.
Because the truth?
I want to be the guy who chooses her.
But I’m not.
Not fully.
And she sees it.
I don’t even have to say it.
Her hand stills.
Just for a second.
Then—before I can think—before I can stop it—she moves.
Grabs the front of my shirt again.
Pulls me down and kisses me.
It’s not soft.
It’s not tentative.
It’s not asking.
It’s claiming.
Heat hits first.
Then pressure.
Then the sharp edge of something almost desperate—but controlled just enough to not look like it.
My body reacts.
Instinct.
Hands coming up, steadying her, one at her waist, the other brushing her arm to keep her balanced.
She tastes like gloss and something sweet.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt. Holding me close.
I let it happen—it’s easy.
Because she’s right here.
But it doesn’t hit the same.
Not like—I pull back.
