Our second kiss of the night.
Slow, firm, assured.
The camera shutter clicks at that very moment. Click. And the image is sealed forever on photographic paper. Silent proof of what, perhaps, neither of us dared to name.
When we collect the strip of photos, I can't help but look at them with a silly smile. My cheeks burn. Before I can say anything, Dominic takes my hands in his, gives the images one last look, and tucks them into the inner pocket of his jacket with unexpected solemnity.
"These are mine. The first of our memory album," he says, almost in a whisper, as if declaring something deeper than just a romantic phrase.
I feel something stirring inside me. A strange, sweet, and dangerous warmth runs through my body. I bite my lip and, for some reason, I feel an urge to provoke him
