The moment her apology faltered into silence, I couldn’t hold back anymore. My hands rose almost on their own, framing her face, my thumbs brushing her damp lashes as though I could wipe away the guilt she carried there. Her skin was warm beneath my palms, softer than silk. And before I could think, before reason could chain me, I leaned in and pressed my mouth to hers.

The kiss was nothing gentle. It was fire—hungry, pent-up fire from months of restraint. Her lips parted instantly, a soft gasp against me, and then she clutched the back of my neck, pulling me closer with a need that matched my own. I kissed her deeper, our mouths moving with a rhythm we both remembered too well, yet had been starved of. My chest thundered, my breath ragged, but I forced myself to hold back my weight, careful, always careful.