The air was thick with tension as Damian's fingertips lingered on Elena's cheek. Her pulse raced, every nerve alive with awareness.
"I shouldn't be here," she whispered, though her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch.
"You should be," Damian countered softly. "Because I can't stop thinking about you, Elena."
The sincerity in his voice undid her. All the anger, fear, and confusion melted away as he lowered his head and captured her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn't rushed, it wasn't forceful—it was desperate and full of the feelings neither of them could voice.
Elena clutched the lapel of his shirt as the kiss deepened. Her world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the strong hands cradling her waist, the thrum of his heartbeat against hers.
They stumbled toward the sofa, tangled in each other. Damian paused only long enough to search her eyes. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, his breath warm against her lips.
"I don't want you to," Elena admitted, her voice breaking.
They gave in to their desire, letting the world and its dangers fade away for one stolen night.