Her thumb grazed the edge of his jaw.
"I don't care."
Kikaru pushed up on her toes.
The kiss was clumsy, driven by exhaustion, acid rain, and the raw panic of nearly losing pressure on his artery in a dead car. Her mouth pressed hard against his. Acid-wash, soot, and cheap motel air filled the space between them.
Caleb caught her wrist, not hard, only enough to stop the moment from running ahead of both of them.
His bruised right arm hung useless at his side. His left thumb found her pulse point, hammering under the skin.
The kiss had the strict intensity she used on a firing line. It lacked rhythm. It lacked grace. Their teeth clicked once. She adjusted like she was correcting a rifle stance, trying to make the moment obey her.
Caleb broke contact first.
The bathroom doorway offered no room to retreat. Their chests heaved in the damp air. Rain beat the motel roof in hard sheets. The fluorescent light above the sink flickered and made the room harsher than it needed to be.
