Elara
The apartment feels different after he kisses me like that.
Not softer.
Not safer.
Sharper.
Like every surface has edges now, every breath heavier, every second stretched thin between what is and what could be.
Adrian doesn’t step away immediately.
That’s new.
Before, he always created space — always gave me room to breathe, to think, to choose distance if I needed it. Now he stays close, his hands still at my waist, his gaze locked onto mine like he’s recalibrating something.
Or holding himself back.
My pulse hasn’t slowed.
“If you’re going to look at me like that,” I say quietly, “you should probably explain what it means.”
A flicker of something dark passes through his eyes.
“It means I’m deciding how much control I need to maintain.”
Heat curls low in my stomach.
“
