Something deeper answers faster.
Mine.
I move. It is not a decision. Only motion.
I put my other hand on her waist and pull her closer. Closing what space remains until there is none. Her back presses against the stone and she inhales sharply.
I feel her against me. The contact sharpens everything. Heat. Movement. Response. Physical and immediate.
My focus fractures. This is wrong. No. Not loss. It is expansion.
Too many inputs. All of them are her. I lower my head. Instinct wars with the program.
No strategy. No intent. Instinct.
Her scent is strong. Close. Alive.
Her lips part. The warmth of her breath passes over my face. Her eyes bore into mine. Seeing. Understanding.
Mine.
My mouth finds hers. The contact is immediate. Taking. Her lips part under the pressure.
The response hits harder than impact. No resistance. No fear. An answer.
The surge spikes, and the world narrows. No others. No war. No rock. No pursuit.
Only this.
Her.
Mine.
I tighten my grip, pulling her tighter against me as the contact deepens. I shift my hand along her side, mapping without thought, learning shape, heat, reaction.
And she reacts. Every movement feeds it. It accelerates. The boundary dissolves.
There is no directive, only instinct.
Claim. Hold. Do not release.
My hand moves higher. Then lower. Exploring.
Every response she gives pulls me further. Deeper. Control fractures, not fully gone, but thinning.
Danger.
The word surfaces late.
Delayed. Unacceptable. I force it forward. Through the noise. Through the surge. Through the need.
Her.
Not threat. Not target. Not variable. Something else. The distinction returns.
Sharp. Violent. This is not control. This is not protection. This is taking without permission. Overriding her. Her will.
The realization cuts through everything. I stop immediately and pull back.
