Emma's POV
For one suspended second neither of us moves at all.
Just his lips against mine—warm and still and careful, the lightest possible contact, barely more than sharing breath. Like he's afraid if he does anything more it will shatter.
Then I feel him—feel the moment his careful control cracks, just at the seam.
His lips press back against mine.
Not tentative anymore.
The kiss deepens before I've consciously decided to let it—his mouth moving against mine with a slow, devastating certainty, and I make a small sound that I don't intend to make, and his arm tightens around me, and thinking stops.
He kisses the way he does everything—precise and thorough and completely present, like there is nothing else in the world requiring his attention, just this. Just me. His hand has moved
