Heat detonates in my bloodstream. The cabin shrinks to the two of us alone.
“Zach,” I breathe, unsteady.
He hovers, waiting. “Yes.”
The control in his voice cracks something inside me. I don’t think. I close the distance.
My mouth finds his with force I didn’t know I possessed.
The kiss is not careful.
It’s a full-blown collision.
One of his hands threads through my hair. The other hand finds my waist and holds me there almost as if he’s been waiting years for this moment to materialize again.
I taste wine. Chocolate. Heat.
He makes a low sound in his throat, rough. Unguarded. The vibration travels straight through me. I edge into him harder, palm flat against his chest, the steady thud beneath his shirt thrums.
There’s no hesitation left in me. No default to our friendly Monday ritual. No shields of teasing and banter.
Zach deepens the kiss, slower now, more deliberate. There’s only breath. Heat.
Finally, we’re not pretending.
When we breaks the kiss, it isn’t because we want to. It’s because air becomes necessary.
His forehead rests on mine. His hand remains at my waist.
“Skylar.” My name sounds rough. Ragged.
My pulse pounds in my ears. “You don’t get to do this and then walk it back.”
“I won’t. Never again.”
No hesitation.
Inside this aircraft, sealed in warm light and intention, something irrevocable settles.
We’re no longer orbiting.
We’re falling.
Neither of us is trying to stop it.
