“You are horrible at communicating,” she grumbles.
“You climbed into my lap and kissed me like your life depended on it and I responded in kind,” I point out. “I’d say that we communicated quite well in that moment.”
“That wasn’t communication?—”
“It wasn’t?” I smirk.
She opens her mouth, then closes it.
Then opens it again. Then, to my immense satisfaction, she begins laughing. She tips her head back, her shoulders shaking with the intensity of her laugh. The sound is warm and bright enough to make the entire miserable room seem less oppressive.
I stare at her helplessly.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
My heart beats mercilessly against my ribs. My mind, too, blanks out on anything that is nother.
She’s my sole focus. Her beauty. Her warmth. Her presence that breathes life into me.
“You are impossible,” she says between breaths.
“Will you forgive me if I said I am impossibleonlyfor you?” I ask as I stare into her eyes, my voice both serious and humorous at the same time.
She steps closer then, still smiling, though there is a softness in her expression now that wasn’t there before.
“Perhaps I can be enticed to do so,” she says. “If you answer this next question correctly.”
“Bring it on,” I tell her, puffing up my chest with confidence though on the inside I’m lamenting falling into this trap again.
What if I say the wrong thing, again? What if she hates my answer this time too?
I’m close to breaking into a sweat as I wait for her to pose her question. I think she knows it too, because she looks at me with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
She opens her mouth. I take a deep breath—here it comes!
“If the world weren’t ending and no one was trying to kill us… would you kiss me again?”
The words echo in the room, in my ears. They loop in my mind time and time again until only the last part of her question remains.
Would you kiss me again?
My heart is threatening to jailbreak out of my chest as I take a step toward her. Then another. Soon, only a breath separates us.
“Ah, my darling Moe. With pleasure.”
Her eyes widen and she swallows hard.
“Good,” she whispers.
I cup her jaw gently and lower my mouth to hers with all the restraint I lacked before. I savor the soft warmth of her lips, the quiet sigh she makes when she melts into me, the way her hands slide up my chest and clutch at my torn shirt as though she has wanted this just as badly.
This time when I kiss her, there is no panic driving it. No imminent death at our backs. Only the slow, tremblingrealization that she is here, in front of me, choosing this. Choosingme.
Time stands still. There’s no notion of seconds or minutes. Only the number of sighs she makes; the number of times she nibbles at my lips and lets me nibble at hers in return. Time becomes solely a measure of her—of my Moe.
Her chest brushes against mine and I long to let my hands roam all over her body, feel every dip and curve, every soft, smooth surface. But I restrain myself. She wanted me to kiss her, not to ravage her while we’re still standing.
We’re both breathless when we finally break apart.
