SERA
It wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was deliberate.
Intimate.
Starving.
His mouth moved against mine like he was trying to re-memorize me, like he had all the time in the world and still didn’t want to waste a single second.
Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue, was slow and intentional, like he wanted me to feel every second of it. Like he wanted to remind me what I’d been missing.
His hand cupped the back of my neck, firm and possessive, guiding me deeper into him.
I should’ve pulled away. I should have. But when his tongue swept gently against mine, teasing, tasting, coaxing, and my knees buckled.
I clutched at his shirt, fisting the soft fabric over his chest like I could anchor myself to him, like he was the only solid thing left in my crumbling worl
