The jungle night, usually a source of unease, now throbbed with a different kind of energy for Amara. The near-kiss from earlier that day had shattered her remaining composure. Her body was a tempest of longing, a raw, aching demand for the touch that had been so tantalizingly close, then cruelly withheld. She lay under the tarp, pressed against him, every nerve ending, hyper-aware of his presence.
He was awake too. She could feel the subtle tension in his muscles, the way his breathing, usually so even, was now a fraction deeper, more ragged. The air between them hummed, thick with unspoken desires, a silent challenge that permeated the small shelter.
Melita, thankfully, was deeply asleep, her soft, innocent breathing a stark counterpoint to the raging storm within Amara.
Amara shifted
