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“A kitten walked into a lion’s den, completely ignorant of the peril she was in,” he retorts, his tone dripping with irritation. “Yes, that infuriated me.”
“How could I have known?” I roll my eyes in a mixture of exasperation and genuine inquiry. I turn away, ready to leave this charged encounter behind. In the background, children’s laughter fills the air, carried by the breeze. I ascend the steps, my knee throbbing from the earlier impact.
When I reach the landing, I sense Desmond’s eyes on me, the weight of his gaze tangible. Glancing back over my shoulder, I find him right behind me, as silent and watchful as a panther in the night.
He doesn’t answer me, so I turn away, my thoughts churning as I climb the stairs. As the parking lot comes into view, Desmond reaches for me, his hand brushing my arm. “You couldn’t have known. You were an outsider.”
I pivot to face him, now on the steps below me. We’re at the same level, eye to eye. Maybe it’s his proximity that gives me a modicum of courage, or perhaps it’s just my reckless nature showing itself. “You claim you saw me, and that angered you. That’s a powerful emotion, Desmond,” I assert, driven by curiosity and a touch of defiance. “Do all outsiders provoke this reaction in you?”
“Only little girls playing at adulthood,” he replies with a hint of mocking lightness. His tone carries more danger than any darkness he conceals.
“No, it’s deeper than that,” I press on, feeling a blend of nervousness and audacity. I lick my lips, unease rushing through me. “You saw me, and you wanted to rescue me.”
Which is exactly what I want.
“You’re assuming quite a bit,” he retorts, his voice tinged with playful teasing—a quality almost more unsettling than the shadows lurking within him.
“You saw a homeless woman and wanted to breathe hope into her,” I continue, fully aware that I’m treading on thin ice. I’m referring to Sal’s actions, not Desmond’s, and he knows it too.
The man he killed. Something I still don’t comprehend.
“You’re insistent on knowing my thoughts, aren’t you?” he responds, reaching out to grip the back of my head, drawing me toward him. His lips brush mine as he speaks, the air electrified with tension. “Shall I reveal my inner musings to you, Charlotte? It wasn’t just that you didn’t pay attention, Charlotte, but the inane curiosity that gnaws at your subconscious. You tried to hide it, but glimpses of darkness spilled out in that curiosity, and I wanted nothing more than to coax it out.”
In that charged moment, his grip both firm and gentle, a revelation emerges from his words. “I saw what would one day belong to me,” he confesses, his voice laced with possessiveness. His eyes bore into mine, locking me in place, his presence overwhelming. “And you are mine, Charlotte.”
He gives me no opportunity to respond as his lips crash onto mine, stealing away any thoughts that might have lingered in that charged moment. In this instant, there’s only Desmond, the sensations he stirs, and the overwhelming intensity of the connection between us.
He doesn’t wait or ask for permission. He takes my kisses as if he’s afraid this could be our first and last, his lips stealing my breath and swallowing my moans. The press of his mouth against mine ignites a fire within, stoking something deep and primal.
It isn’t the kind of kiss I ever want to stop thinking about. It is the kind of kiss I want to carry around in my pocket to pull out and relive over and over again.
The world fades into the background with each electrifying touch of his lips. My senses blur, as if time itself slows, and I find myself gripping his shoulders for support as the intensity of the connection consumes me. The kiss becomes an exploration, a dance of sensations and emotions.
There’s no urgency, no frantic need. If he kissed me with a possessive urgency, perhaps my reaction would be different. But he kisses me as if I already belong to him, as if he’s savoring me before the inevitable. He learns every curve, every contour of my mouth. His tongue sweeps over my lips, then delves inside in a slow, languid exploration.
His hands slip up my sides and grip my waist before pulling me against him in a way that leaves no question about what he wants from me.
My fingers curl into his coat, dragging him closer, craving more of him. I taste the lingering hint of chocolate from earlier. His rough stubble grazes my skin in a deliciously tantalizing way, and I hear my own quiet moan when he kisses a teasing line up my jaw toward my ear before whispering, “Mine.” Desmond pulls away so only mere inches separate our faces, where we both pant for air.
It’s just a kiss.
Deep within, I know it’s far more than that. It’s a silent promise that the moment I say yes, he’ll lose control. When I surrender, he won’t merely take. He’ll claim. That realization is precisely why I pull away, pivot on my heel, and flee up the rest of the steps, running from the intensity of emotions and desires his kiss ignited.
It’s just a kiss,I think once more, looking back and finding Desmond gone.
Sixteen
There arefleeting moments when some divine hand draws back the curtains and reveals pure happiness. Just a glimpse, a brief peek into a realm where laughter heals all wounds and illness is an alien concept. It’s almost too much for us ordinary mortals to grasp, as if the surrounding adults can’t quite fathom what we’re seeing.
As Winston and Milo chatter animatedly in their costumes, strolling down the sidewalk, I follow behind, simply observing.
“It’s precious, isn’t it?” Marion’s voice draws me out of the recesses of my thoughts. I turn to her, finding a slight smile on her face under the soft glow of the streetlights. Her eyes have a knowing glint, as if she’s just caught me peering through those metaphorical curtains, as though she’s witnessed me gazing upon something I shouldn’t.
“The boys,” she continues, gesturing to the two youngsters in front of us, who are playfully pretending to fend off zombies. Winston holds a toy gun, while Milo brandishes his imaginary lasers. “Their innocence is beautiful.”
“It really is,” I agree, a laugh bubbling out of me as we approach our home.
Milo rushes back to me, his eyes filled with anticipation. “Lottie, can Winston and I hang out tomorrow? Please?”
