“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
Something in him gives; not control, he doesn’t lose that. But his restraint? Gone.
The kiss isn’t soft. It’s controlled and intentional, like he’s been holding it back too long to pretend otherwise. His hand shifts to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His fingers spread out and hold tight, just firm enough that I feel it everywhere.
I meet him there, hesitation gone. Because this isn’t new, it just finally isn’t being ignored. My hands slide up his chest, fingers catching in the fabric over his pecs, then still. I feel it, uneven and raised skin beneath the fabric.
A scar.
I pull back just enough to look at him. He’s already watching me, waiting for my reaction. And something else, judgement maybe? Some pain in his eyes makes my heart ache.
I don’t give him any. Instead, I trace my fingers over the scar, careful but not hesitant. It’s long and thin, reminding me of an incision.
“What happened?” I ask.
He’s quiet for a moment before simply saying, “work.”
It isn’t an answer, not really, but I don’t push it. Instead, I let my hand settle there, not pulling away. “I know what damage looks like,” I say quietly.
His breath catches for the briefest moment; his hand tightens on my waist at the same moment. “I know you do.”
He leans close, resting our foreheads together causing our breaths to mingle between us. The scent of him, his soap, some coffee, and something metallic fills my senses, making my head spin.
“You’re incredible at what you do,” he says, his voice lower now.
I can’t help the smile that cracks my lips. “Alex-”
“I mean it,” he cuts in. “You walk into chaos and make it survivable. You don’t flinch. You don’t look away.”
My chest tightens.
“You see people,” he adds. “Even when they’ve been reduced to nothing.”
I swallow hard, noting the way his gaze drops to my throat for a split second.
“You do that too.”
He shakes his head slightly. “Not like you.”
I don’t argue about it, because now isn’t the time. We’re standing here, hands on each other, after everything we just saw. After everything we now know. And instead of pulling away, he pulls me closer. His left hand slides from the back of my neck to my jaw, his thumb brushing along my pulse.
“You sure about this?” he asks.
No hesitation. “Yeah,” I say. No wavering or doubt.
His eyes search mine for half a second longer. Then he nods; his decision made.
When he kisses me again, it’s deeper, less restrained. Still controlled but no longer holding back.
My back meets the wall again and stays there as his grip tightens on the back of my neck. I’m sure my pulse is hammering against his thumb as he strokes the pad of it up and down my neck.
The weight of him is a delicious pressure on top of me, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that answers my own. My living room, my neutral territory, has become the ground zero for this explosion. His hands are everywhere, tangling in my hair, gripping my hip, and sliding under my shirt to trace the curve of my spine. Every touch is a question, and my body is screaming yes.
Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s got my belt open and he’s already unbuttoning my pants. I move my hands instinctually to help him push them down but freeze when he tells me, “don’t” in a gravellier voice than I could have imagined from him. It sends a shiver through my whole body that causes the edges of his mouth to crook upwards.
His hand slides down the front of my pants the moment his lips collide with mine again. I feel the pressure of the heel of his hand on my clit rubbing once, twice…
My hands find his shirt and grip tightly. He parts me with two fingers and slips them both in simultaneously at the same moment his tongue breaches my lips.
