It was a collision—heat against restraint, desperation disguised as precision.
Her lips met his like a secret detonating—slow, deliberate, consuming from the inside out.
For a heartbeat, he stood perfectly still, hands suspended between disbelief and desire.
Then instinct broke the leash.
He exhaled against her mouth—raw, unfinished sound scraping up his throat. His fingers hovered at her waist, unsure whether to pull her closer or press her away.
That hesitation lasted all of two seconds.
Then the dam burst.
His hand settled—firm, inevitable—on her hip. The distance between them collapsed like it had only been pretending to exist. She felt the tense line of his chest against hers, the heat of him through layers of fabric. The sharp angle of his jaw brushed her cheek as he leaned in, as if dragged by magnetism he couldn't understand, let alone deny.
Her mouth moved against his—measured, devastatingly slow—each brush of lips a precise, lethal threat.
