We are not going back

Chapter twenty-seven

We barely made it to the bathroom, my heart pounding as Kamala pulled me in behind her, the door closing softly, but the tension was anything but quiet. My breath hitched as she turned to face me, her eyes dark with the same hunger I’d felt building inside me for days.

The room was small, intimate- the dim light from the mirror casting soft shadows on her face, making her look even more irresistible. My pulse raced, and before I could say anything, her hand found mine, fingers sliding between my own.

“Eleonora…” Kamala whispered, her voice low, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Kamala, we shouldn’t-” I began, my voice barely audible, though the words were weak. My body betrayed me, leaning into her touch even as I spoke.

“Tell me to stop,” she said, her lips hovering just above mine, daring me to say the words. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

I shook my head, my heart in my throat. “I can’t.”

Her lips crashed against mine, the softness of them stealing what little breath I had left. The kiss was electric, desperate. My hands moved instinctively, sliding up her sides, feeling the fabric of her blouse, the warmth of her skin underneath.

Kamala moaned softly into my mouth, her hands gripping my hips, pulling me closer. The world outside ceased to exist- it was just us, tangled in each other, lost in this moment we’d both been craving.

Her lips left mine, trailing down my jawline to my neck, where she kissed me with a fervor that made me dizzy. I leaned back against the cool tiles, my head tilting to give her more access, my fingers finding the hem of her shirt, lifting it slightly, needing to feel more of her skin.

“Kamala,” I gasped, her name spilling from my lips like a prayer.

She stopped for a second, pulling back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were full of something- desire, yes, but also tenderness. It made my chest ache.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whispered again, more for myself than for her.

Her fingers brushed the side of my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know,” she breathed, “but I don’t care. I need you.”

Those words broke the last of my resistance. I pulled her back to me, our lips meeting again in a kiss that was even more intense, more urgent. My hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every inch of her that I could reach.

She backed me up against the sink, her body pressing against mine, and I couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped my lips. The heat between us was overwhelming, consuming.

Her fingers trailed up my arm, then down to my waist, and I shivered at her touch. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” she murmured against my lips, her hands moving with deliberate slowness, teasing me, making me want her even more.

“Kamala,” I gasped, pulling back for air. “I-”

Her lips captured mine again, silencing whatever protest I might have had. This time, her kiss was gentler, slower, like she was savoring the moment. Her hands moved to cup my face, her thumb brushing lightly across my cheek, and I felt like I could melt right there in her arms.

We broke apart, both of us breathless, our foreheads pressed together. I could still taste her on my lips, could still feel the way her body fit perfectly against mine.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whispered, her voice ragged.

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding in my chest. “Me too,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.