Page 118 of Your Place or Mine

Her eyes dropped to my mouth.

And mine to hers.

That was the last straw.

I kissed her.

God help me, I kissed her like I couldn’t survive not kissing her.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t slow.

Two people had lost too much, held on too tight, and were suddenly too tired to fall apart in each other’s arms.

Her hands fisted in my shirt.

Mine slid into her hair.

And when she sighed against my mouth, I felt it all the way to my bones.

She tasted like warmth and heartbreak, like something sweet I hadn’t earned but couldn’t resist.

I pulled her closer than I had a right to, and she let me.

Her fingers splayed across my chest like she was trying to memorize the shape of me, and I couldn’t breathe around how much I wanted this.

Wantedher.

Her legs shifted, and I felt her press against me, chest to chest, heart to heart.

And still, I kissed her like the world might end if I stopped.

Because maybe it would.

Because maybe it already had, and this was the first thing that felt like a new beginning.

But beneath the heat, beneath the sizzle and the sound of her breath catching and the weight of her hands on me, there was something else.

Grief.

Mine.

Hers.

A thrum of pain under the surface, binding us together like scar tissue.

I pulled back first, my forehead resting against hers, breathing hard.

She was breathing hard, too.

Her eyes were glassy.

Her lips were swollen and trembling.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said.

---