I kiss her.
Not like in the parking lot after the fight—that was desperate, adrenaline-fueled, survival.
This is different.
Slower. Deeper. Intentional.
Her hands slide up my chest, into my hair.
Mine go to her waist, pulling her flush against me.
She tastes like beer and something sweeter, and I can't get enough.
We kiss until we're both breathing hard, until the world narrows to just this—her body against mine, her mouth, her hands, the small sounds she makes when I do something she likes.
"Bravos," she breathes against my lips.
"Yeah?"
"I need—" She doesn't finish, just kisses me again, harder this time.
I understand what she's not saying.
Need to feel alive.
Need to forget everything else.
Need this connection, this moment, before reality comes crashing back.
My hands slide under her jacket, finding bare skin beneath her tank top.
She gasps, arching into my touch.
"Here?" I ask, pulling back just enough to see her face.
"Here." Her eyes are dark, pupils blown. "I don't want to go back yet. Don't want to share you with anyone else."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." She's already pulling at my cut, pushing it off my shoulders. "Unless you don't want?—"
I kiss her again, answering without words.
The clearing is private, hidden by trees.
For the first time in eighteen years, I'm not thinking about what I've lost.
Only what I've found.
My mouth crashes against hers, hungry, demanding.
She kisses back just as fierce, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I back her up against the rough trunk of an old oak, the bark scraping her shirt as I press my body into hers.
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't pull away—she arches into me, her hips grinding against the hard bulge straining my jeans.
"Bravos," she whispers, voice husky, but I silence her with another kiss, my tongue thrusting deep, tasting the beer on her lips.
