Page 117 of Romancing in Rot

My Clair.

I want to set every ugly thing that ever hurt her on fire and build her something soft from the ashes.

Instead, I brush my thumb along her cheek, needing to check she’s still here.

Her eyes open, and we just stare at each other, both of us breathing hard, chests rising and falling in the same broken rhythm.

There she is.

Her thumb lifts to my mouth.

I lick it.

Slow.

She whimpers.

I drag my thumb along her bottom lip, light but deliberate, because I need one more second of knowing she wants this too.

She catches my thumb between her teeth and nips.

My entire body goes still.

Then hot.

Her eyes dare me to do something about it.

My grip tightens on the shelf, metal cutting into my skin. I lean in again, and she pulls me down as our mouths brush.

“Clair!”

The door slams open. Boots pound over broken tile. Voices crash through the aisle.

I break away, turning enough to put myself between her and the doorway.

Trish reaches us first, eyes sweeping from the bodies to the blood on Clair’s hands to the paint on my shoulder. “Are you two okay? We came running when we heard the gunshot.”

Clair doesn’t answer right away.

Her fingers lift to her kiss-swollen lips, stopping just short of touching them. Her eyes are wide, glassy, fixed anywhere but me.

My stomach drops.

Oh fuck.

I kissed her.

I kissed Clair.

And now she looks scared shitless.

“Clair,” I sign before I remember she won’t understand me.

Her gaze flicks to my hands.

Then to my mouth.

Her throat works. The color climbing her throat tells me something I’m too afraid to trust.