The heat of him bleeds into my skin immediately, his presence overwhelming in a way that makes my pulse stutter. I can smell him now, something dark and unmistakably his, and it unravels me faster than touch ever could. My body trembles, betraying me, craving what he still refuses to give.
“And what if I want to stand at the centre of your orbit?” I ask softly.
My fingers lift, tracing a feather-light path up his arm, barely grazing skin, the contact so light it’s almost a question. I let them linger at his shoulder, then slide higher, settling at the back of his neck. His skin is warm beneath my touch. Alive.
His eyes snap to mine.
His breathing turns harsh, controlled only by will.
“You’re doing this deliberately,” I murmur, the truth slipping out before I can stop it.
His mouth curves, slow and restrained, something dark flickering beneath the surface. “Doing what?”
“Not touching me.”
A pause stretches, tight, electric.
“Would you prefer that I did?” he asks quietly.
There’s no teasing in it. No bravado. Just care and calculation woven together, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force, waiting to see which way I’ll tip him.
My pulse hammers.
“I didn’t say that” I whisper.
His gaze sharpens, intent locking onto me. “No,” he agrees softly. “You didn’t.”
The air between us feels razor-thin.
I hold his eyes for a moment too long, then rise slowly onto my toes and press a gentle, fleeting kiss to his lips, soft, deliberate, gone almost as soon as it lands.
I pull back just enough to breathe.
His control doesn’t shatter all at once.
It slips.
One moment we’re standing there, the city breathing beneath us, the night holding still, and the next his restraint fractures with a quiet, devastating inevitability.
Khai’s hands move before either of us can think better of it.
One settles at my waist, firm and possessive, anchoring me there. The other slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair with a tenderness that makes my breath hitch. He tilts my head just enough to force my gaze upward, his eyes dark, intent, searching my face like he’s looking for permission he’s already been given.
“That,” he murmurs, lips hovering just shy of mine, “was a very dangerous move.”
The words barely land before the sky opens.
Rain touches my skin in scattered drops at first, light, tentative, then faster, heavier, soaking my hair, my dress, the night itself. He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he leans closer, breath warm against my mouth, his gaze flicking from my eyes to my lips and back again.
I can feel his heartbeat now, fast, powerful, echoing where our bodies meet.
I swallow, blink rain from my lashes.
And then he claims the moment.
The kiss is sudden and searing, all heat and intent, stealing the breath from my lungs as rain pours down around us. His hold tightens, pulling me closer, leaving no doubt about where I stand or how badly he’s been holding himself back.
It lasts long enough to make the world disappear.
