Something in my chest cracks open.
I lean down without thinking.
My lips brush his collarbone.
Not a kiss yet.
A check.
A confirmation.
Real skin. Real heat.He’s really here.
His hands tighten at my hips instantly.
“You feel hot,” I whisper against him.
His breath shifts.
“That’s because I burn for you,” he murmurs, low and rough.
My fingers trail his throat, over the barbed-wire crown inked there.
“I can see that,” I whisper.
The words come out shakier than I mean them to.
“You’re mine,” I say again.
This time, it’s not a question.
Its fear dressed as certainty.
“Always,” he answers immediately.
And something inside me finally tips.
I kiss him.
Soft.
Unsteady.
Not asking for anything except proof.
For half a second, he lets me.
Let’s me decide.
Let’s me breathe.
Then he breaks.
One hand snaps up to the back of my neck, the other tangling in my hair as he tilts me exactly where he wants me.
And then he kisses me back.
Hard.
