It’s not gentle.
It’s not sweet.
It’s desperate.
Consuming.
He kisses me as if he’s starved for the taste of something real, something that anchors him to the world. As if he’s afraid that if he lets up even for a second, I’ll vanish into the storm.
My fingers fist in the soaked fabric of his shirt as I kiss him back with everything I have.
I don’t hold anything back.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just need.
His hands slip to my waist, gripping tight, pulling me flush against him, and when I moan into his mouth, he swallows it like a man starved of sound, like he needs even that part of me too.
Rain trickles down our faces, down our joined bodies, but I hardly feel it.
All I feel is him. His mouth, his hands, the way his heart beats like a war drum against my palm.
When we finally break apart, our foreheads rest together, our breaths tangled and uneven. The rain has softened to a mist, and through the thinning clouds, the moon peeks out as though it’s been waiting for this moment too.
And for once in my life, I don’t feel like I’m caught in the chaos.
I feel as if I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
And I see the same calmness echoed back in his eyes, and for the first time, he’s not on guard.
He’s not tense all over.
He’s finally here, with me, in the moment.
“I love you,” he whispers, his thumb gently caressing mycheek.
A soft smile touches my lips. “I love you too.”
He exhales, his hands gripping mine. “We should head back,” Phoenix says reluctantly. “It’s getting late, and you need to eat something soon. Can’t have your blood sugar dropping.”
The fact that he’s thinking about my diabetes, that he’s keeping track of when I need to eat, makes me love him even more. But I’m not ready for this perfect night to end.
“One more stop,” I negotiate. “Please?”
He looks at me for a long moment, taking in my wet hair and hopeful expression. “What did you have in mind?”
I grin, pulling out my phone to check the last item on my bucket list. “The High Roller. I want to see Vegas from the top of the world.”
“All right, but then we’re going home and straight to a hot shower,” he warns.
The observation wheel is a twenty-minute walk from where we are, but neither of us minds. We walk hand in hand through the quieter streets, occasionally stopping to look in shop windows or listen to street musicians. The rain has left everything clean and shining, and the usual Vegas excess feels muted and romantic.
By the time we reach the High Roller, we’re both mostly dry, though my dress is definitely worse for wear. Phoenix pays for a private cabin, and I don’t even want to know what that costs. But as the wheel begins its slow revolution, carrying us up into the night sky, I know it’s worth every penny.
“Look,” Phoenix says softly, standing behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.
