His mouth crashed into mine like he had been starving.
There was nothing gentle about it—no hesitation, no careful exploration. This was hunger. This was release. This was everything he had been holding back since the moment we were torn apart. His kiss burned, fierce and demanding, his tongue claiming mine as if he needed to remind himself I was real, that I was here, that I hadn’t been ripped from him again.
The taste of him flooded me—heat and smoke and something achingly familiar.
Home.
I was home.
That single truth rang through me as my hands flew into his hair, fingers tangling, pulling him closer because even pressed chest to chest, mouth to mouth, it still wasn’t close enough for me. I kissed him back just as desperately, matching his intensity, answering every rough brush of
