“I’m barely holding it together here,” I say. Quieter. “So please. Either stop —”
He kisses me.
Not soft.
Not careful.
Not like the almost-moments or the noses brushing or the foreheads touching in the dark.
• • •
Like something that’s been locked behind a door for years and finally — finally — broke through.
His hands come up to my face.
Both of them.
Not gentle.
Like he can’t get to me fast enough.
Like his body stopped asking permission.
Cupping my jaw, pulling me in, and there’s no hesitation — no careful, no testing — just him.
Finally.
After everything.
Choosing this.
Choosing me.
• • •
I grab the front of his shirt with both hands and pull him in.
Closer.
Because I have waited —
God, I have waited so long —
I can’t get close enough to him.
• • •
“God,” he breathes against my mouth.
Like it escaped him.
Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Ro —”
• • •
He kisses me again before he can finish.
