Not careful reunion.
Need.
Grief.
Relief.
All sixteen lost years crashing together at once.
Flick made the softest broken sound against my mouth, and that nearly wrecked me completely.
My hands slid carefully to her waist.
Holding.
Anchoring.
Like I needed proof she was real.
Thunder cracked outside the apartment windows.
Neither of us noticed.
Nothing existed except her.
Her mouth.
Her shaking breath.
The way she kissed me like she’d been starving too.
God.
I pulled back barely an inch just to breathe.
Forehead against hers.
Both of us wrecked already.
“Flick…”
Her eyes stayed closed.
Tears still clung to her lashes.
“I know,” she whispered shakily.
But I don’t think either of us did.
Not really.
Because this?
This was dangerous in ways the cartel wasn’t.
This could destroy what little control I had left around her.
I brushed my thumb softly beneath one of her tears.
