We didn’t move at first.

The kiss ended, but his forehead was still pressed to mine, both of us breathing like we’d run miles. My lips tingled, my pulse was wild, and I couldn’t seem to think past the feeling of his hands on me—steady, warm, firm in a way that felt like he’d always known exactly how to touch me.

He opened his eyes slowly.

There was nothing gentle in them.

No hesitation.

Just heat.

And certainty.

And something that felt dangerously close to claiming.

“Come with ...