He heard it.
The second kiss grew out of the first like a branch grows out of a trunk—natural, unforced, finding space in the air. His lips found hers with more certainty this time, the hesitation burned away by her quiet permission. She could feel the shift in him, the way his breath caught and steadied, the way his mouth softened and then pressed with deliberate intent.
It was longer. Less careful at the edges, still careful at the core. He shaped it to fit the crack, not explode inside it. His mouth learned the line of hers, the small dip at the center of her lower lip, the way she tilted her head just so when she wanted more without asking for it. He followed rather than pushing, reading her responses like a map drawn in real time.
