"Mmh," she breathed, the sound caught between pleasure and restraint.
"Slrp," came the soft reply, not from his voice but from the meeting of mouths, a sound that should have been awkward but wasn't. It was real. It was alive. It was the sound of two people choosing not to be ghosts.
His hand moved—not fast, not greedy, but curious. It slid from her wrist to her elbow, then up to her shoulder, tracing the line of her collarbone like he was memorizing it. She felt the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric, felt the way his fingers hesitated at the edge of her sleeve before continuing. It was a question, and she answered by tilting her head, deepening the kiss.
Her thigh shifted, and the pressure of him there became undeniable. Not invasive. Not demanding. Just present. A reminder of everything they weren't saying. She didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. Instead, she let her leg press back, a subtle movement that said: I know. I feel it too.
