“Will you kiss me?” Her words are a whisper, and she looks at me with those big brown eyes, gorgeous eyes, eyes that, despite her words and her fire, hold innocence and trust and admiration. I hate what I have to do next. “No, kitten. I won’t be kissing you. Not tonight.” Her face falls. “Why not?” “Because when I kiss you, I need you to remember it.” Those eyes go gooey and soft. “When you kiss me?” “Oh yeah. When,” I say, my breath grazing her lips with my words. And at that moment, I want nothing more than to kiss her. To say fuck it and kiss her even if she’s beyond gone, which goes
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