The words are quiet.
Honest.
They settle deep inside me, in the space where doubt used to live.
“What stopped you?” I ask softly.
He hesitates.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
I let out a small laugh, unable to help myself.
“Phil,” I murmur, “I’ve been practically throwing myself at you for weeks.”
His cheeks colour faintly, but he doesn’t look away this time.
“I know,” he says. “I just… didn’t trust it.”
Trust.
The word hangs between us, heavier than everything else.
I understand it.
More than he realises.
I lean forward and kiss him again, softer this time.
If he needs proof that I want this, I’ll give it to him.
Chapter 9
Phil
All I feel isher.
Her mouth. Her breath. Her hands. The warmth of her body pressed against mine like she belongs there.
Like she’s always belonged there.
The kiss deepens without urgency, without hesitation. It isn’t frantic. It isn’t uncertain. It’s deliberate. Each movement of her lips against mine feels like a decision being made.
My hands rest at her waist at first, steady, grounding myself in the reality of her. The softness beneath my fingers. The heat of her through the thin fabric of her shirt.
She shifts closer.
The movement is small.
Devastating.
Her hips brush against me, and my body answers immediately, instinctively, with no interest in patience or restraint. I inhale sharply against her mouth, and she makes a quiet sound that goes straight through me.
My hands slide lower before I can stop myself, settling against her hips, then further still, cupping her gently, testing the boundary.
She presses into me.
Permission.