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We inhaled, exhaled. And everything slowed down.

Our noses tapped, his normal shape and my abnormal one. For a moment, I had the impulse to turn away, to duck my head, to block him from it. This was nearer than I’d ever expected him to get.

And for that moment, he must have sensed it. So he took my face in his palms and placed a tender peck on the tip of my nose. And my acorn heart dissolved.

And he held my face and tugged me into him. And our heads tilted.

And at last, he spoke, making a request only I could hear.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered.

“Then kiss me,” I coaxed.

And our mouths brushed. Again and again and again. His lips skimmed mine, a flutter, a feather. He jerked at the contact, his forehead creasing. I knew because I’d kept my eyes trained on him, while his eyelids had flapped shut.

And soon, he angled his chin. And our mouths parted and swept closed, then parted and closed again, over and over. Chaste pressure, our lips smacking gently.

And it grew longer, hotter.

And we paused, inching apart. And then everything.

And then we launched ourselves into it, our mouths flying at each other, welding andyielding. My tongue traced him until he trembled and opened for me, and I slipped inside. A delirious noise rumbled from the back of his throat, vibrating into mine as I stroked his tongue with my own, tasting the wind.

And hell yes. We were kissing.

I smiled into his mouth. At another flick of my tongue, teasing the tip of his, the remnants of his composure snapped. I gasped as he spun us around, pressing me against the tree. His palms clasped the back of my head, and his own tongue took charge, flexing between my lips. His kiss hit a spot that had me raising a knee to flank his thigh, my hips bucking into his pelvis.

Our mouths fused, our tongues lapping.

Seasons, we kissed. Oh Seasons, we kissed and kissed.

More, I thought. I wanted more. I wanted us stripped and spiraling and just—

“I want you,” I said. “I want you right here, right now.”

Aire swore and wrenched backward. “Seasons, I...”

In between these vexing, rampant kisses, I’d lost my mind. I seriously hadn’t meant to voice aloud my desire to fuck him up against this tree. It just came out.

Basically, it was like my words had snuffed a candle.

Actually, they had wiped out an inferno.

His pupils shrank to pinpricks, the irises dulling to a repentant blue. He glanced at our surroundings. Here we stood, crushed against the trunk, with me draped under him, my left thigh hiked over his leather pants, my skirt rumpled around me.

Both of us were heaving. Not to mention his stiffness and my own arousal. No, my outer skin couldn’t get wet, but yes, my inner skin could. In a manner of speaking.

Aire shook his head, his expression twisted with remorse. He didn’t have to say it, the reasons why we couldn’t do this, although I wished he had.

Because what came out of him instead was worse.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The words slapped me across the face. That’s what a person said out of pity.

I couldn’t say who retreated first, whether I squirmed away from him, or if he peeled himself from me.

“I’m sorry,” Aire repeated. “Forgive me.”