The kiss was nothing like the careful, controlled moments we’d shared before. This was desperate and hungry and full of months of suppressed tension finally finding release. Alexander’s hands tangled in my wet hair, and I could taste rain and frustration and something that might have been desperation on his lips.
I should have pulled away. Should have slapped him for presuming he could kiss me in the middle of an argument, for thinking that physical attraction could solve the fundamental issues between us.
Instead, I kissed him back.
My hands fisted in his soaked shirt, pulling him closer as rain poured down around us like nature’s own dramatic soundtrack. The kiss deepened, became more urgent, and I lost myself in the heat of his mouth and the strength of his arms around my waist.
We
