After a soft kiss, Deniz pulls back just enough to look at me.
The space between us is nothing—inches, heartbeats—but it feels infinite. His dark eyes search mine, moving slowly, carefully, reading every flicker of emotion on my face. He's not asking with words. He doesn't need to.
Is this okay? Do you want this?
I answer without speaking. My hands are still wrapped around his neck, fingers tangled in the soft hair at his nape.
I don't let go. I pull him closer, just a fraction, just enough to show him what my voice can't say.
His eyes soften. Something in them shifts—relief, maybe, or wonder, or both.
Then he leans in again.
This kiss is different.
The first was gentle, tentative — a question.
This one is an answer.
Hungrier. Deeper. More urgent, but not rushed. Every movement of his lips against mine feels deliberate, like he's learning me, memorizing the shape of my mouth, the way
I gasp when he—
