Page 38 of Veil of Smoke

Fingers brush. Pause. Then lock.

I stare down at our hands.

She says, “Then stop holding back.”

No fear lingers in her. Not a damn trace.

I scan her face. Hunt for a crack. A no.

Nothing shows.

She doesn’t wait. Her hand slides to my neck, yanking me in, and her mouth meets mine.

It’s soft at first. A tease. Our breaths mix, rough and quiet, fabric rustling between us.

Her fingers climb my chest. Brush my collar. Dig into my skin, pulling me tight.

She moves first.

Not me.

She swings a leg over me, settling into my lap. Her thighs grip mine, and my hands land on her waist as her breath skips.

I hold still, waiting for her to pull back but she doesn’t.

She kisses me again, harder. No words. Just heat, coiling slow and thick.

Her hands dive under my shirt. My back arches when her palms press my spine.

She tugs the fabric up. Rips it off me. Tosses it somewhere.

Her fingers drag down my chest, tracing scars like they’re hers to claim. My skin buzzes where she touches.

She leans down. Presses her lips to a rough mark near my ribs.

Not asking. Owning.

I breathe out hard.

I reach for her shirt. Move careful. Give her an out.

She lifts her arms.

It’s gone.

Her bare skin grazes mine. Heat pools low. It’s steady, not wild yet.

Her hands frame my face.

I look up.

“I mean this,” she says.

No shake in her voice. No nerves.

She’s rock solid.

My chest pulls tight. A knot I can’t untie.

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