Looking for A Connection

He kissed her. Not the brush of lips he had given her outside her dorm, not the almost-kiss that had haunted her for three days of silence. A real kiss, his mouth on hers, his hand moving to cup the back of her head, his body pressing against hers.

When he pulled away, he was smiling, satisfied, his charm restored, his power confirmed. His thumb brushing her swollen lower lip. "You look so beautiful right now." He leaned his forehead against her's.

She could not speak. Her body was trembling, her mind was racing, her heart was breaking and singing simultaneously. She had wanted this, had dreamed of this, had been terrified of this, and now it had happened and it meant nothing, meant everything, meant exactly what he wanted it to mean and nothing that she needed.

"I should go," she whispered. She had to go. She couldn't stay. Not after that.

"Stay." He pulled her closer, his hands on her waist, his hips against hers. "

The offer was clear. The implication was clear. She could have more of him, more of this, if she gave more of herself, if she accepted his terms, his timeline, his refusal to name what they were becoming.