For Morrison, the longing that had built up over the past year was all concentrated in this kiss.
He kissed her with a desperate, greedy intensity, lips pressing against hers again and again, tasting, claiming, refusing to let go.
He knew he shouldn't—she would be angry—but he couldn't help it. After longing for her for so long, he just wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to feel her close.
Earlier, when she had let him stand outside in the rain, ignoring him, his heart had been a hollow pit. But then, fate seemed to favor him, and the rain had started.
Standing there, drenched, he had silently wondered if she would let him in. And when she finally approached with her umbrella, he knew he had won.
She hadn't let him suffer all night. Even a little spark of care for him had shown.
