There’s a second where Ava thinks he won’t do it.
That he’ll hear his own words—*I’d rather be hated by the whole world than let you go*—and stop. That he’ll step back, smooth his shirt, make some cutting remark, and they’ll go back to arguing about zoning variances like nothing happened.
He doesn’t.
He crushes his mouth back to hers like he’s claiming something he’s been fighting himself over for too long.
The kiss is different this time.
The first was shock and cover, an act of survival. The second was proximity and almosts. This one is surrender. Intentional. Open.
She gives up pretending she doesn’t want it.
His hand on her lower back tightens, hauling her in until there’s no space left. Her fingers slide up, tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him grunt. The sound
