POV – Elena Dorne
He rose slowly from the sofa, and for a second, I couldn't breathe. The motion was simple — graceful, casual — but something about it made my pulse spike.
He looked down at me, that same calm, collected expression on his face, though there was something flickering in his eyes. Something… unguarded.
"I should go," he said quietly, his voice deep, steady — but it felt like a lie. Like he didn't really want to leave.
I stood up too, though my legs felt like they might give out. "Right. Of course," I murmured, forcing a small smile. "It's late."
He nodded once. I could feel the warmth radiating off him, too close and not close enough. The silence between us stretched — heavy, electric, impossible. I walked with him toward the door, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
When he reached for the handle, my fingers twitched, an instinctive, helpless movement. Say something, my mind screamed. Don't let him just walk away.
"James," I breathed.
He turned, slowly, his hand still on the doorknob. His eyes caught mine — dark, unreadable, but burning. For a moment, the world outside that door stopped existing.
I swallowed hard. My voice was barely there when I spoke again. "Thank you… for tonight."
He gave a small nod, that quiet half-smile ghosting across his lips. "Thank you, Elena. It was—" He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze drifting down, landing on my mouth for the briefest second before flicking back up.
My heart stumbled.
We stood there, so close that I could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, the glint of gold in his eyes that the dim light caught just right. The silence between us was thick with words neither of us dared to say.
And then… it just happened.
I didn't even know who moved first. One second, there was air between us; the next, his hand was at my jaw, firm but impossibly gentle, and his mouth found mine.
The world fell away.
It wasn't rushed — it was deep, deliberate, charged with everything we'd both been pretending not to feel. His lips were warm, tasting faintly of wine, of something wild and unnameable. My hands found his chest before I even realized I'd moved, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt.
The heat between us roared to life — an ache that had been simmering for weeks now burned like fire. Every inch of me leaned into him, into the pull I couldn't explain, didn't want to explain.
When he finally broke the kiss, we were both breathless. His forehead rested against mine, and for a long second, neither of us spoke.
"Elena…" he whispered, his voice low, rough.
My name on his lips sent a shiver through me.
He drew back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes again — those eyes that looked like they could see everything, even the parts of me I didn't show anyone. "I should go," he said again, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
I nodded, my throat tight, my lips still tingling. "Okay," I whispered.
He lingered for one more heartbeat — maybe two — before he stepped back. His fingers brushed mine one last time, and then he was gone.
The door closed softly behind him, but the sound echoed through my chest like a storm. I stood there, stunned, breathless, my fingertips ghosting over my lips, still tasting him, still feeling him.
I didn't know what had just happened. I only knew that nothing would ever feel the same again.
And for the first time in my life, I was afraid of how much I wanted someone.
I could still feel the warmth of his hands, the press of his chest, the intoxicating pull that had drawn me to him.
I moved through the apartment in a haze, almost mechanically. I went to the bathroom, letting the water run hot as I stepped into the shower. The steam wrapped around me like a cocoon, but even there, under the torrent of warmth, I couldn't wash away the taste of him from my lips, the feel of him pressed impossibly close.
The routine that normally grounded me — cleansing my face, washing away the day, removing the traces of makeup — felt hollow tonight. Every gesture was overshadowed by the memory of his hands, his lips, the way he looked at me before the door closed.
I wrapped myself in a soft robe, the cotton brushing against my skin in a faint, ghostly mimic of his touch. The apartment was quiet, the city outside muted by the walls, but my mind was alive with him. Every thought spiraled back to that kiss, that moment suspended in time where nothing else existed but us.
I slipped into bed, cocooned beneath the sheets, and tried to tell myself to sleep. My eyelids grew heavy, but my mind refused to obey. Images of him, impossibly close, impossibly real, danced behind my closed eyes. The warmth of his body, the intensity in his gaze, the subtle, unguarded moments that made him both terrifying and irresistible — they haunted me.
And then sleep came, reluctant, dreamlike, carrying me into a world I had never experienced before.
In the dream, he was there, impossibly near, the air around us thick with tension I could feel on my skin. We were close enough to hear each other's breathing, close enough to feel the pull that had drawn us together in reality, but it was heightened, surreal. Every movement, every touch, every glance carried a weight I had never known.
I felt his hands on me, warm and grounding, though the dream softened the edges, making it safe and terrifying at the same time. I reached for him, and he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in that same slow, deliberate way that had left me breathless in real life. The electricity between us was a tangible thing — fierce, insistent, and entirely consuming.
I woke with a gasp, my sheets twisted around me, heart racing, cheeks flushed. My body still burned with the echoes of the dream, and my mind was in overdrive, replaying every detail of tonight: the dinner, the wine, the laughter, and, above all, the kiss.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm myself, but the truth was undeniable. I wanted him. I wanted him in a way that terrified me, in a way I couldn't articulate or resist.
And the thought that he had left, that he was out there somewhere, and that this — whatever this was — was only beginning, made me ache with anticipation and dread.
Sleep did not return easily.
The night had started ordinary. By the time it ended, I realized my life had shifted irreversibly.
And no matter what happened tomorrow… I couldn't stop thinking about him.