As we broke apart, the taste of him lingering on my lips, I felt an ache—a magnetic pull to close the gap again. His gaze held mine, the intensity in his eyes deepening, and I could tell he felt it too. The noise of the rooftop bar faded into a distant hum, the world narrowing until it was just him and me.


    “I wasn’t expecting that,” he murmured, his voice like velvet, a hint of amusement laced with the raw edge of desire.


    “Neither was I,” I admitted, my breath still unsteady. My voice felt foreign, quieter, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile magic had just formed between us.


    He smiled, a slow, knowing smile that reached his eyes. “Maybe it’s a good thing neither of us planned for it.”


    Before I could respond, he reached out, his fingers grazing mine, and that subtle contact sent a ripple of warmth through me again. His hand closed over mine, his touch confident yet careful, as though he were handling something fragile. The connection felt as intimate as the kiss we had just shared.


    “Come with me,” he said, his voice low and inviting, a gentle command I couldn’t resist.


    He led me through the bar, weaving between clusters of people lost in their own worlds. I followed without question, my heart racing as he guided me to a quieter corner—a small lounge area shielded by a glass partition. It was quieter here, the noise muffled, leaving only the soft hum of the city below and the distant pulse of music from the main room.


    He let go of my hand, turning to face me, and I felt the absence of his touch like a sudden chill. But before I could dwell on it, he closed the space between us, his hands settling on my waist. The warmth of his palms seeped through the fabric of my dress, grounding me.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    “I have to ask,” he began, his voice softer now, intimate. “What were you thinking about, sitting there alone, looking out at the city?”


    I blinked, his question catching me off guard. For a moment, I couldn’t think of a single coherent answer. But then, the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I was thinking about how far away everything feels sometimes. Like I’m here, but not really part of it.”


    His expression shifted, something unreadable passing through his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “And now?”


    “Now?” I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of his attention. “Now, I feel… here.”


    His grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against my temple, then my cheek. His movements were deliberate, almost torturous, each touch sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through me. When his lips finally found mine again, it was different this time—less hesitant, more demanding.


    The kiss was deep, searing, his hands sliding up my back as he pulled me closer. My fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the dark strands, and I felt him exhale against me, a low, satisfied sound that made my pulse quicken. The world blurred around us, time losing all meaning as we melted into each other.


    When we finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead rested against mine. His voice was a husky murmur against my lips. “I don’t know what this is, but I’m not ready to let it go.”


    Neither was I. Whatever this was—this connection, this fire—it was consuming and thrilling, and I wanted more. So much more.


    But before I could say anything, a sharp trill broke the spell. His phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, the sound jarring in the intimate silence. He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he pulled away just enough to retrieve the device.


    “I have to take this,” he said, his tone apologetic, but the regret in his eyes told me he didn’t want to.


    As he turned, phone pressed to his ear, I watched him, my heart still pounding. Whoever he was, whatever this was—it was far from over. And I wasn’t ready to walk away. Not yet. Not ever.