Breathing for Her

She just looked up at me, breath catching in her throat, eyes wide and wet beneath the streetlight. The pink of her dress shimmered under the glow, her skin gleaming like bronze polished by heat and defiance.

"You want to dance drunk in some stranger's hands?" I demanded, jaw tight. "Fine. Just say it."

She stared at me. Furious. Flushed. Shaking.

Then she whispered, "Why does it matter so much?"

I didn't answer.

Couldn't.

Because the truth would've ripped open everything.

So it came out before I could stop it-low, guttural, the sound of something breaking free.

"Because you're not theirs."

She froze.

And then... she stepped closer.

Just a breath. Just a whisper of space left between us.

"Then kiss me," she said, voice soft but certain. "You always stop. You always pull away. You tell me you notice me. That you protect me. But you never kiss me."

She looked up at me, trembling. "So kiss me. Or let me go."

I didn't move.

Not for a heartbeat. Not for five.

Because I knew what would happen once I did.

There would be no turning back.

Not for her.

Not for me.

She looked like sin and sweetness wrapped in fire and I'd already gone too long pretending I didn't want to burn.

So I moved.

One hand slid to her waist, dragging her closer. The other tangled in the back of her curls, angling her mouth to mine.

And then I kissed her.

God, I kissed her.

Like she was the only source of oxygen left in the world. Like her lips were something I could consume. Like kissing her could fix every cracked, corrupted thing inside me.

It wasn't gentle.

It was possession.

Teeth, tongue, breathless heat and broken restraint.

Her mouth opened under mine. I took advantage tasting rum, rebellion and something so soft I nearly lost my balance. Her fingers gripped my jacket like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go.She moaned into me.

That sound soft, desperate, mine shot straight to the center of my chest. I deepened the kiss, groaning as her body arched into mine,