The moment door clicked shut behind us, and for a moment all I heard was my own heartbeat. It thudded loud enough that I wondered if he could hear it, too. The air felt thick—heavy with anticipation, with the unspoken “are we really doing this?” tension that made my palms warm and my breath catch just a little.

I hadn’t felt nerves like this in years. The good kind. The kind that made my stomach flutter and my skin wake up, every inch suddenly aware of itself. Stepped closer, not touching, that alone sent a slow ache rolling through me, the kind that whispered you’re wanted.

I’d forgotten what that felt like.

I wasn’t in a rush. That was somehow the most intoxicating part. our eyes travelled over one another, I was memorizing every detail God, that look made my breath slip out in a shaky exhale. It wasn’t hunger alone—it was appreciation. Admiration. Like he was seeing me, really seeing me, after I’d gone so long feeling invisible.

When he finally touched my waist, it felt like a spark chased the path of his hand. My whole body reacted—tension, heat, that slow throb of need blooming low and deep. My nerves melted into something warm, something hungry. I stepped into him before I had time to think, drawn by the gravity of that simple, careful touch.

His mouth brushed mine softly at first, almost questioning. But the moment I leaned in, answering without words, the kiss deepened—slow but full of heat, like he was savouring the moment as much as I was. Lust swelled in my chest and rushed through my veins, but so did something gentler… a sense of being wanted, chosen, pulled into someone’s arms not out of convenience but desire.

For the first time in a long time, I felt beautiful. Desired. Alive.

And when he whispered my name against my lips, voice low and warm, any remaining nerves dissolved into pure, overwhelming anticipation—of connection, of touch, of finally letting myself feel everything I’d been starving for.