12. Shepherd #2
Her hands came up to grip the front of my sweater, pulling me closer, and I went willingly. My other hand found her waist, steadying her, drawing her in until there was no space left between us. She was warm against me, warm and solid and real, and I couldn't get enough.
I'd thought about this. Late at night, in the privacy of my own mind, I'd imagined what it might be like to kiss her.
I'd constructed elaborate fantasies based on observation and speculation, tried to predict how she'd taste, how she'd respond, how it would feel to finally cross the distance I'd been so carefully maintaining.
I was wrong about all of it.
The reality was better. Infinitely, impossibly better.
Because fantasy was static, predictable, limited by my own imagination.
Reality was Noa making soft, desperate sounds against my lips.
Reality was her fingers tightening in my sweater like she was afraid I'd disappear.
Reality was the way she kissed me back, fiercely, with complete commitment, no hesitation or holding back.
Reality was the way she felt in my arms like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there, and we'd just been too stubborn to realize it.
I backed her against the counter without breaking the kiss, pressing her into the solid wood, feeling her arch against me in response.
My hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer still, and she made a sound that went straight to the base of my spine.
A moan. Low and needy and utterly unconscious.
That sound. That sound undid me.
I kissed her harder, deeper, pouring two weeks of wanting into the press of my lips and the sweep of my tongue.
She matched me, her hands releasing my sweater to slide up my chest, over my shoulders, into my hair.
Her fingers tangled in the strands, gripping, pulling, and the slight sting of it only made me want her more.
When I finally had to break away to breathe, I didn't go far. Just pressed my forehead to hers, both of us panting, sharing air that tasted like each other.
“That wasn't biology,” she whispered. Her voice was wrecked, hoarse with something I recognized because I felt it too. “I needed to know. If it was just the heat coming, or if it was... real.”
“And now you know?”
“Now I know.” She was still gripping my hair, still pressed against me, showing no signs of wanting to move away. Her eyes were dark, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looked like a woman who'd just been thoroughly kissed, and the sight of her made me want to do it all over again.
“It's real,” she continued, her voice steadier now. “Whatever this is. It's not just chemistry. It's not just biology making choices for me. I wanted that. I wanted you. And I want...” She hesitated, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes.
“What do you want?”
“I want more.” The words came out in a rush, like she'd been holding them back and finally let go. “When my heat comes. I want you there. I want to see what this is, what it could be, without holding back.”
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could feel it against her chest. “Noa...”
“I know it's complicated. I know there are three of you, and I haven't... I need to...” She took a breath, steadying herself.
“I need to know if it's real with them too.
Before the heat. While I'm still thinking clearly.
But right now, in this moment, I needed you to know.
I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you. Not because I'm trapped or desperate or out of options. Because I want to.”
I cupped her face in my hands, tilting it up so I could see her eyes clearly. So she could see mine.
“That's all I ever wanted,” I said. “For you to choose.”
Something cracked in her expression. Not breaking, but opening. Letting something in that had been locked out for a very long time.
“I'm not good at this,” she whispered. “Trusting people. Letting them in. I've spent so long keeping everyone out that I don't know if I remember how.”
“You're doing it right now.” I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone, marveling at the softness of her skin. “This. Right here. This is what letting someone in looks like. You're already doing it, Noa. You just don't realize it yet.”
She laughed, shaky and wet. “You're very annoying, you know that? Always saying exactly the right thing.”
“I'll try to be more annoying in the future.”
“Please don't.”
I kissed her again because I could. Because she'd asked me to, and now that I knew what it felt like, I couldn't imagine not doing it. This kiss was slower, gentler, savoring rather than consuming. A promise instead of a question.
When we finally pulled apart, her eyes were bright with something that looked dangerously like hope.
“I should talk to the others,” she said. “Tell them what I've decided.”
“You should.” But I didn't let her go. Kept my hands on her face, kept her close, not quite ready to share her yet. “In a minute.”
She smiled, and it was like watching the sun come out after a storm. Bright and warm and absolutely transformative. “In a minute.”
We stood there in the kitchen, wrapped around each other, and I let myself feel everything I'd been holding back. The want and the fear and the fragile, terrifying hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something worth having.
I didn't know what came next. Didn't know if this would last beyond the heat, beyond the storm, beyond the strange circumstances that had thrown us together. But standing there with Noa in my arms, feeling her heart beat against mine, I found I didn't care about certainties anymore.
Some things were worth the risk.
She was worth the risk.
And when she finally pulled away, when she went to find the others and tell them what she'd decided, I stayed in the kitchen for a long moment, touching my lips where I could still feel the ghost of her kiss.
Something had begun.