Page 68 of Every Shattered Note
I open my mouth, let her place the mango on my tongue—but I don’t stop at the fruit.I take her finger too.Just the tip.Suck it in.
Slow.Controlled.
My tongue circles where skin meets sweetness, and her breath catches—just enough to give her away.
After a beat too long, I pull back, swallowing the fruit with a quiet groan.
“Sweet,” I say, voice low.
Her throat moves as she swallows.“You mean the mango or me?”
“Both.”
There’s a pause.Not awkward.Not hesitant.Just long enough for the room to shift, like the heat between us just turned into something no one can walk away from.
She leans her elbows on the counter, her fingers brushing the edge, her gaze drifting to my mouth and lingering like she’s remembering what I just did.Or imagining what else I could.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I murmur, “and I’m not going to make it to lunch.”
A slow, breathy laugh escapes her, but there’s tension underneath it.Like the wires between us are frayed and hot, one touch away from sparking.
She doesn’t look away.“You want to talk about what this is?”
“I do.”My voice is hoarse, frayed with restraint I’m fast losing.“Because I’m not doing the whole pretend-we’re-just-friends-on-vacation thing.I promised I wouldn’t lie.And ever since I saw you outside this morning—half-damp and barefoot, all legs and peace—I’ve been thinking about you.Wanting you.Fucking.Want.You.”
She inhales, lips parted, her expression shifting into something raw and exposed.
“I’m not immune,” she says quietly.“I haven’t been since the moment you said my name like it already belonged to you.”
That honesty sears through me.
I don’t move.I don’t need to.We’re already close—so close I could breathe her in if I tried.Her hand hovers near my mouth, fingers slick from the mango juice, her gaze locked on mine like she’s daring me to do something about it.Her knuckles tighten around the fruit.Her chest rises, and her eyes—fuck, her eyes—don’t look away.
I pause in front of her, close enough to feel the heat from her body radiate into mine.Close enough to see a single droplet of water slide from her collarbone, disappearing into the V of her tunic.
“You’re not afraid of me,” I whisper, needing to know.
Her voice doesn’t shake.“I’m afraid of how you make me want things I shouldn’t.”
My fingers lift, slow.I brush a damp strand of hair from her cheek, tuck it gently behind her ear.Her eyes flutter closed for just a second.But it’s enough.
“Maybe you should want them,” I say, not moving back.
Her breath hitches.
Then—her mouth opens.
And I don’t wait.
I kiss her.
This time is not tentative.Not soft.It’s full heat, full ache, like we’ve both been starving for this and didn’t know it until now.Her hands find my shoulders, grip them like she needs something solid to hold on to.I pull her closer by the hips, and she lets me.Lets me guide her backward until her back hits the counter.
She gasps against my mouth, and I take the opening—tongue sliding against hers, tasting mango and something sweeter.Her fingers dive into my hair.My hands are at her waist, under the gauzy fabric, feeling the heat of her skin, the soft curve of her.
She kisses like she thinks I might vanish.
I kiss her like she’s the thing I’ve been chasing my whole damn life.
