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I close the last of the distance until I'm a breath from his mouth.

"I'm dying to do this," I whisper against his lips. "So unless you're going to tell me you don't want me, I'm going to⁠—"

His hand closes around the back of my neck.

He kisses me. His mouth crushes mine, his fingers fist in my hair, and he hauls me half into his lap like he's done deciding to be good. I make a sound I'd be embarrassed about on any other day. He swallows it. His stubble scrapes my chin, his other hand splays wide across my back.

This is not pity. Pity doesn't kiss like it's starving.

I grip his shirt in both fists, terrified that if I let go he'll remember every reason this is a mistake.

He pulls back just far enough to drag in a breath. His forehead drops to mine, his eyes still closed.

"This is a problem," he says, rough and low.

"I know." I'm smiling. I can't stop. "Best one I've had in years."

He pulls back enough to look at me, and the look does something violent to my insides. His eyes move over my face, dark and hungry.

"You just made the biggest fucking mistake of your life," he says. His voice is low enough to make my skin tighten. The hand in my hair grips harder, not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure I'm listening.

"Letting you kiss me?" My lips are still buzzing from the first one. "Bold of you to assume that ranks. I once microwaved foil in a borrowed apartment. That was a mistake. This is a public service."

"I mean it." His thumb moves along the side of my throat. "Letting me taste you. You don't know what you've done. Men like me, we don't take a thing like this and give it back. We hold on. We ruin it just by holding on."

Some sensible little voice in the back of my skull is waving a red flag, reminding me this is a man who has done terrible things. The flag is correct. The flag is also being completely ignored, because I'm tired of being sensible at exactly the moment I want something. Tired of talking myself out of things before they've even had the chance to disappoint me.

"Then ruin it," I say.

His jaw clenches.

"You don't mean that."

"I'd do it again." The words come out steadier than I feel. It's a small miracle. My heart is slamming against my ribs like it's trying to break free. "If you told me right now that kissing you would get me killed by morning, I'd still do it. I'd be the one closing the distance.”

His face changes. The hunger drains out of it. Something tighter takes its place.

He doesn't like that I said it.

He doesn't like that I might mean it.

"Don't say that to me," he says quietly. "Don't ever say that to me again."

"Why?"

His forehead settles against mine. "Because I'll believe you." His hand slides into my hair. "And then I'll stop being careful with you. You're the one person I can't afford to stop being careful with."

I smile.

"That sounded suspiciously like a speech."

His mouth brushes mine.

"Don't get used to it."

Then he kisses me again.

I feel the moment he wants more. The shift in the kiss. The pressure of it. My lips part and his hand tightens at my hip.