The swing was still trembling faintly beneath her when his lips brushed hers. It wasn't forceful, not at first—it was careful. Damian, who always seemed composed, sharp, and untouchable, was suddenly fragile in the space between their mouths. His hand lingered near the chain of her swing but didn't touch her. It was as though he was giving her room to run if she wanted to.
Harper's first instinct was to stiffen. Her breath caught, and for a split second, she froze. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not like this. Not kissing him. But the warmth of him pulled at something inside her she hadn't even realized she was starving for.
So she leaned in—just slightly—and the kiss deepened.
It wasn't perfect. Their lips fumbled at first, uncertain, testing boundaries neither of them had ever admitted were there. But when Damian tilted his head and pressed more firmly, the hesitation melted into something softer. Something that felt almost dangerous because of how much it meant.
