Your Touch Burns Through My Soul
She felt it before he even reached her—the tension, the heat, the unspoken pull that always existed between them.
It had been building for too long.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, though her voice was softer than her words.
“And yet, you’re not asking me to leave,” he replied, his gaze locked onto hers.
That was the problem. She never could.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like he knew every second mattered. The space between them vanished, and her breath caught as she felt the warmth of him so near.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” he murmured.
She nodded, unable to deny it any longer. “It’s hard not to.”
His hand lifted, hesitating for just a moment before gently brushing against her arm. The touch was light—but it sent a spark through her, sharp and undeniable.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, as if trying to steady herself.
But it was already too late.
Every instinct told her to step back, to create distance, to protect herself from whatever this was.
Instead, she leaned closer.
“Careful,” he whispered, his voice low. “You don’t know what you’re starting.”
She looked up at him, her heart racing. “Maybe I do.”
That was all the invitation he needed.
He closed the distance, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that felt like fire—soft at first, but quickly deepening into something stronger, something impossible to ignore.
Her fingers gripped his shirt as she pulled him closer, feeling the intensity grow with every second. His hand rested at her waist, holding her steady, grounding her in a moment that felt overwhelming and perfect all at once.
And in that kiss, she realized—
It wasn’t just his touch.
It was everything about him that burned straight through her soul.