Every step pulls him closer, and my pulse kicks up in response—faster, harder, like my body already knows something I don’t.
Heat crawls over my skin, my breath catches, but I don’t look away.
My feet stay planted.
My body leans forward before I can stop it, like I’m being pulled by something outside myself.
Because this moment?
It’s what I wanted.Isn’t it?
What I’ve been waiting for.Why I’m here now.
It’s what I didn’t even realize I was hoping for.
When he reaches me, his chest rises and falls, his breath just slightly uneven, like he hasn’t come down from the song yet.
There’s sweat at his temple, at the hollow of his throat.
And his eyes—fuck.
His green eyes that I always thought were just that—green.
But now?
Now I see the brown flecks and just how deep they go.
And then—he moves.
His hands slide into my hair, fingers threading through the strands, cupping the back of my head.
Warm.Sure.
Steady.
I expect him to call me out.To say something.But he doesn’t.
He just holds my gaze and my head in his hands.I don’t know if he’s holding me still or holding me closer.Maybe both.Maybe neither.Hell, maybe he just needs to touch me as much as I need to be touched.
A breath hitches in my throat and soft growl escapes from his.
I barely have time to register the heat of his palms against my skin, the way his grip tightens like I might slip through his fingers—and then, his lips are on mine.
Soft at first.
Not hesitant—just controlled.Measured.
A press, a pull, a slow unraveling.
Like he’s testing the weight of this.
Like he’s making sure I feel every single second.
And I do.God, I really,reallydo.
I feel it in my chest, in my stomach, in the way my knees threaten to buckle.
My fingers tighten in his shirt, gripping, anchoring, holding on.