They were lying side by side. The room was quiet. Only a small lamp was on. Shadows moved on the ceiling.
Her fingers slowly made little shapes on his arm. A heart. A wave. A circle. She didn’t speak. He didn't move.
His shirt was on the floor. Her hair was messy. They had been laughing before. A lot. But now… it was quieter. Warmer. Closer.
Then he said, “I like the way your laugh feels on my neck.”
His voice was soft, low.
She blinked, surprised then smiled, cheeks going pink. “That’s oddly specific.”
"It’s true," he said, turning to face her, their noses nearly touching. “Like… it tickles but in a way I want more of.”
Her breath caught. Her hand stilled.
“So what now?” she asked softly not pulling away.
He smirked. “Now I pretend I’m not dying to kiss you.”
“You’re doing a bad job pretending,” she whispered, eyes on his lips.
“I know,” he murmured, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re too close.”
“Then go away," she whispered.
“I don’t want to.”
Silence. But it was full. Full of heat. Full of feeling.
He came closer. Slowly.
But just before their lips met, she whispered, “Don’t make it gentle.”
His breath hitched. His hand slid to the back of her neck.
The kiss came. Gentle first. Then deeper.
It felt like a promise. Like all the almost touches finally said yes.
He kissed her like she was the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking.
And she kissed him like she’d been waiting to be found.
Her fingers slowly made little shapes on his arm. A heart. A wave. A circle. She didn’t speak. He didn't move.
His shirt was on the floor. Her hair was messy. They had been laughing before. A lot. But now… it was quieter. Warmer. Closer.
Then he said, “I like the way your laugh feels on my neck.”
His voice was soft, low.
She blinked, surprised then smiled, cheeks going pink. “That’s oddly specific.”
"It’s true," he said, turning to face her, their noses nearly touching. “Like… it tickles but in a way I want more of.”
Her breath caught. Her hand stilled.
“So what now?” she asked softly not pulling away.
He smirked. “Now I pretend I’m not dying to kiss you.”
“You’re doing a bad job pretending,” she whispered, eyes on his lips.
“I know,” he murmured, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re too close.”
“Then go away," she whispered.
“I don’t want to.”
Silence. But it was full. Full of heat. Full of feeling.
He came closer. Slowly.
But just before their lips met, she whispered, “Don’t make it gentle.”
His breath hitched. His hand slid to the back of her neck.
The kiss came. Gentle first. Then deeper.
It felt like a promise. Like all the almost touches finally said yes.
He kissed her like she was the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking.
And she kissed him like she’d been waiting to be found.