The warmth in her voice nearly undoes me.
My hand lifts before thought fully forms. I touch her jaw carefully, thumb brushing the place where bruises faded days ago. Her eyes close briefly against the contact.
Everything inside me tightens.
“Evie,” I say quietly.
She opens her eyes and looks directly at me. “Yeah?”
The city noise fades.
Not literally. Sirens still moan somewhere near the harbor. Rain still taps against metal. A drunk man still sings badly two streets over. But my attention narrows until only this exists: her breath, her warmth, the soft shine of rain on her lips.
I kiss her.
There is nothing careful about it once it begins.
All evening I have held myself in restraint. During dinner. During dancing. During every moment she laughed at me and touched my hand and looked at me like I was something worth wanting instead of merely surviving. The restraint snaps the second her mouth meets mine.
Evie makes a soft startled sound against my lips, then grabs the front of my shirt with both hands and kisses me back hard enough to send heat crashing through my entire body.
Precursors.
Her mouth is warm and sweet with citrus drink pearls and sugar. Mine parts instinctively beneath hers. Her fingers tighten in my shirt as though she is anchoring herself against the force of the moment. I pull her closer with one hand at her waist, and the sound she makes nearly destroys what remains of my self-control.
The kiss deepens immediately.
Not polished. Not cautious. Hungry in the way two lonely people become hungry after weeks of almost-touching and interrupted conversations and looking too long across bakery counters.
Evie kisses like she lives: wholehearted, emotional, slightly reckless.
I am lost instantly.
Rain dampens my hair. Her body presses against mine along every line possible despite our size difference. I feel the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath my thumb where it rests near her throat.
When I finally break the kiss, it is only because my control frays dangerously thin.
Evie stares up at me, breathing hard, lips swollen from the pressure of my mouth. “Wow.”
My hearts strike painfully against my ribs. “Yes.”
“That was…” She laughs breathlessly. “Okay, now I understand why people write terrible songs.”
I almost kiss her again immediately.
Instead I press my forehead lightly against hers because it feels safer.
It is not safer.
Nothing about her is safe anymore.
Evie’s hands slide slowly down my chest, lingering over the fabric like she is learning the shape of me through touch. “Come upstairs.”
The words hit harder than the kiss.
Not because of sex.
Because of threshold.
