He groans into my mouth, and I use that moment to push back, trying to take control again. But Han is stronger than he looks, and for once, he's not letting me win.
"Frustrated?" he murmurs between kisses, smirking against my lips.
I bite at his jaw...
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"Will you let me kiss you?"
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, before I can even think about what I'm saying. As if they had been sitting on the tip of my tongue all this time, waiting for the right moment to escape. But there is no right moment with Han. No perfect timing, no carefully planned execution—only impulse, only chaos, only this unbearable need that's been clawing at my insides since the second he walked into this place.
And now it's too late to take it back.
He stills, his breath catching, and I watch as his expression shifts, something flickering behind his eyes—hesitation, surprise, something deeper, something I can't quite place. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, just looks at me like I've just shattered whatever fragile barrier he had put up between us. And fuck, I think I might've. Because for a second, just a fraction of one, I swear I see his pupils dilate, watch as his brows pull together ever so slightly, like he's waging a war inside his own mind.
The silence stretches long, thick, weighted with everything we aren't saying. His lips part, but no words come out. He just stares at me, his gaze flickering across my face, searching for something, something only he understands. And I don't breathe. I don't even blink.
I can see him thinking.
I can feel him weighing it, sifting through the chaos in his head, running through all the reasons he shouldn't do this, shouldn't say yes, shouldn't let himself fall into something he knows he won't be able to crawl out of. And I can already tell—shouldn't is winning.
I brace myself for the rejection, for the slow shake of his head, for the quiet, stinging words that will bring this moment to an end before it ever has the chance to become something more. But instead—
"You actually want my permission?" His voice is quiet, barely above a murmur, but there's something sharp in it, something edged with disbelief. Like I'm the one being ridiculous.
I blink, thrown off by the response, by the way his head tilts slightly as he studies me, like I've just asked him something impossible. He says it like it's foreign, like it's laughable, like it's something that never once occurred to him.
I nod, slow, uncertain.
His lips twitch, something close to amusement ghosting over them before he speaks again. "Since when have you ever asked for permission?"
And fuck—that's when it hits me.
That's when I realize exactly what he's saying, what he's not saying.
That's when I understand that this isn't a question. This isn't hesitation.
This is a yes.
A greedy, unspoken, desperate yes.
I pull one hand from my pocket, slow and deliberate, letting the back of my fingers skim over the fabric of his shirt before trailing up the curve of his collarbone. His breath catches, though he tries to mask it, his lips parting ever so slightly as my touch moves higher. I let my fingers ghost over his throat, feeling the way it bobs under my touch, before finally sliding around the back of his neck. His skin is warm beneath my palm, the fine hairs at the nape of his neck tickling my fingertips, sending something electric racing through my veins.
