Zara was caged between Winter's arms, her back brushing the cool metal shelving as he leaned in, his body warm and close. His hand was splayed beside her head, fingers resting against the edge of a dark container.
His eyes held hers with such quiet intensity it stole the air from her lungs.
Then, he leaned in.
Their mouths met without preamble.
His lips were warm, parted just enough to breathe her in. He kissed her like he'd done it a thousand times and would still never get enough. Firm, slow, open-mouthed—not aggressive. Zara sighed against him, her lips moving with his in rhythm, responding with a hunger that was familiar but never dull. Her hands came up between them, pressing against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Winter's other hand dropped to her waist, his thumb sliding just beneath the hem of her jacket to find a sliver of skin.
