When I kiss her, it’s soft at first. Careful. Like we’re both waiting for the other to stop.
But we don’t.
My hand finds her waist, then slides up her back, pulling her closer until I can feel every breath, every tremble. I shift, guiding her gently back against the couch, my body moving over hers until I’m hovering—barely touching, but everywhere at once.
Her breath catches.
So does mine.
I brace myself with one hand beside her head, the other drifting lower, fingertips slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt—only an inch, maybe two. Her skin is warm, soft, and my thumb grazes the curve of her waist like it’s something sacred. Because it is.
Her hands find my back again, tugging at my shirt, fingers brushing my spine, and for a second…I almost forget.
Almost surrender.
I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then another just beneath her jaw. She arches ever so slightly, and something primal stirs inside me, something I’ve spent years laying at the feet of Jesus.
And I want to.
I really want to.
But I can’t.
Not like this. Not now.
I force myself to still, breathing hard, forehead resting against hers.
“Ivy…” My voice is raw. “I can’t. We can’t.”
I pull back suddenly, my forehead resting against hers, both of us breathing hard.
“I want to. You have no idea how much.”
She nods, her eyes searching mine. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I cup her cheek gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—” I trail off, shaking my head. “I need to tell you something.”
She pulls back just enough to really look at me, brow creased. “What is it?”
I sit up straighter, raking a hand through my hair. “Before I left for the camp, I met up with Jack. We talkedabout you. About us. I told him what happened last time…and how proud I was that we stopped.”
She nods slowly, unsure where this is going.
“But he said something I haven’t been able to shake,” I continue. “He said we shouldn’t be alone like this. That next time we might not stop. That…maybe it’s not about self-control. Maybe it’s about wisdom.”
Her face tightens slightly. “So…what are you saying?”
I blow out a breath. “I’m saying I didn’t like it at first. I got mad, actually. Told him I could handle it.”
“And now?”
I look at her, really look at her. “Now I think he might be right.”
The silence stretches.
And then, Ivy exhales, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “I’ve been feeling it too,” she says. “That edge. Like we’re always a few seconds away from crossing a line we can’t uncross.”
I nod, heart heavy but sure. “Then maybe we make a choice. Not because we have to. But because we want to honor what God’s doing here. In us.”
