Neither of us moved right away.
The distance between us remained as it was, unbroken, and for once, there was no need to step back from it.
I stayed where I was.
Darius's hand had fallen away from my wrist, yet the warmth of it lingered on my skin. The room held its breath.
Silence pressed close, thick and alive, but not sharp or waiting to snap.
I looked at him longer than I ever had before, his eyes met mine without demand, steady, dark, patient in a way that made the air feel heavier between us.
Then I stepped forward.
My hand rose first. Fingers brushed the line of his jaw, the slight stubble there rough under my palm. I leaned in and kissed him.
My mouth met his with quiet intent, lips pressing firm, then parting. I tasted the faint trace of wine, the salt of his skin. Darius stilled. A single heartbeat of pause. His breath caught against my lips, the smallest hitch that told me he had felt the difference.
