𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ~ | 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

Sin And Sinners

~'~

Warning ~  🌶

I stopped.

There was no more running.

No more hiding, no more half-measures.

Just him, and me, and the fragile thread that had kept us connected through every fight and every barrier we'd put up between us.

And then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward.

It was barely a movement, his hand hesitating at his side before lifting toward me, but that was all it took. My pulse stuttered, my body swaying toward him instinctively.

He raised his hand and brushed his knuckles gently against my cheek, and I closed my eyes against the sensation. His touch was feather light, almost tentative, as if he thought I might flinch.

But I didn't.

I stood still, letting him feel whatever he needed to feel, letting him know that I wasn't going anywhere.

When he leaned in, it wasn't sudden or hurried. It was careful, deliberate, the kind of movement that felt like a promise. His lips brushed against mine, soft and barely there. My breath caught, and I felt the faintest tremble in his touch, a hesitation that made my chest ache.

It wasn't desperate. It wasn't hungry. It was so quiet, so gentle, it was as though he'd poured everything he couldn't say into that single, feather light kiss. A question. A confession.

When he tilted his head and kissed me again, it was softer. Slower. His lips molded to mine like he was memorizing every detail, the curve and softness, the warmth and weight.

Time ceased to matter.

I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't feel anything but him.

The way his hand slid to my waist, tentative at first, like he didn't know if he was allowed, and then firmer, his fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. The way the tip of his nose grazed mine when he shifted closer, the barest, sweetest friction.

And then something in him changed.

The hesitation gave way to need, and the gentleness deepened. The pressure of his lips grew firmer, the movement of his hand surer as it slid around my back and pulled me against him. I could feel the tension coiled in his body, like he was holding himself back and didn't know how much longer he could.

I didn't want him to.

When he lifted me, it was effortless, like I weighed nothing at all. My breath hitched as he set me on the counter, the cool surface beneath my thighs a startling contrast to the heat blooming between us. He stepped between my legs, his hands bracketing my hips, and the kiss turned hotter, deeper.

My hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. I felt him shudder under my touch, a sound rumbling low in his throat that sent sparks racing through my veins. His hands slid higher, one resting firmly at the small of my back while the other cupped the side of my neck.

He lifted me in one smooth motion, his strength effortless as he settled me on the edge of the counter. The cool surface beneath me contrasted sharply with the warmth of his touch as he stepped between my legs, fitting us together like we belonged there.

There was no hesitation now.

His lips were demanding but never rough. When his mouth moved from mine, it wasn't retreat, it was exploration. His lips brushed my jaw, his breath warm as it trailed down the line of my neck. My head tilted back instinctively, the soft press of his kisses leaving heat in their wake.