The kiss doesn't end so much as it loosens.
One second his mouth is still pressed to mine, heart and hunger and something deeper pouring through me, and the next the pressure softens — but he doesn't move away.
Neither do I.
Our foreheads touch. His breath ghosts across my lips, warm and uneven, as if he is relearning how to breathe.
My hands are still on him. I can feel the hard line of his chest rising beneath my palms, feel the restrained strength in his shoulders, the tension that says he is holding himself back by force alone.
My heart is racing so hard it almost hurts.
I should step back.
I don't.
I want more.
The realization blooms slowly and then all at once, spreading through my chest like heat. I want his mouth on mine again.
I want the restraint gone.
I want to feel
