“This afternoon we were talking about childhood and paint colors and building something new.” I swallow. “Right now it feels like I’m about to be consumed.”
His gaze darkens with intensity.
“By what?” he asks quietly.
“You.”
He doesn’t move immediately. That’s what makes it unbearable. The control. The restraint. The way he looks at me, actively choosing not to cross a line.
“You should go back to bed,” he says.
“That’s not what you want.”
His jaw tightens just slightly. “You’re tired.”
“I’m not.”
The building creaks again. The air feels thinner.
I stand and walk around the table, each step calm and reckless all at once. When I stop in front of him, we’re close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the sweater.
“You’re very steady,” I murmur.
“Yeah.”
“It’s extremely inconvenient.”
A flicker of humor touches his mouth, but it disappears quickly.
“You’re shaking,” he says softly.
I hadn’t noticed, but I am.
Before I can deny it, his hand lifts and brushes along my jaw, thumb resting just beneath my ear. It’s a simple touch, gentle and measured, but it sends a shock through me. I’ve stepped into live current.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to shrink.”
“I’m not shrinking,” I whisper, even as my pulse thunders.
“No,” he agrees. “You’re not.”
And then the distance between us disappears.
I don’t remember deciding to lean in. I don’t remember thinking at all. One second we’re breathing the same air, and the next our mouths collide like this has been waiting for a weak moment to take over.
His hands find my waist with instinctive certainty. My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as if I’ve been doing it forever. The kiss deepens instantly, heat surging between us in a way that feels less a choice and more a surrender.
When he pulls back for a breath, his forehead rests against mine.
“Aurora?”
“Zane.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and whatever restraint he’s been holding onto finally fractures. It’s not frantic or chaotic; it’s focused and overwhelming and entirely mutual. Days of glances and almosts and loaded silences collapse into this one undeniable point.
“Zane,” I hiss against his mouth. “I want you.”
My wisest idea? Hell no, but that isn’t going to stop me.
