The pasta was long forgotten.
Their mouths met in a kiss that wasn’t hesitant or forbidden anymore. This time, it was desperate. Hungry. Like something buried deep had finally clawed its way to the surface.
Martin cupped her cheek. Loretta clung to his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her from unraveling.
She parted her lips, breathless, letting herself feel everything—his warmth, his scent, his weight. It was maddening. Familiar. Dangerous. The kind of kiss that held years of things unsaid.
The pot hissed behind them, boiling over. Neither of them noticed.
At some point, Martin turned off the stove. At some point, his hands slipped around her waist like an anchor.
This wasn’t just lust.
It was history.
God, he had missed this. Missed her. She tasted the same. Felt the sam
