My breath catches at the realization that he’s giving me the choice not just to kiss him, but to call our night in Samara an exception. But it wasn’t. Leaning up, I brush my lips across his, then kiss him gently as if it’s the first time. This isn’t heat and passion, though I know it will be in a matter of heartbeats. This is something else entirely. Something that scares the shit out of me, and yet I can’t bring myself to pull away, even in the name of self-preservation. I’m choosing him, choosing us. There will be no calling this a lapse in judgment, or the result of too much adrenaline, or
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U both love each other ffs
