At first, Olivia had thought she would simply give him a quick kiss, just a small peck to indulge him, and then pull back, nothing more.
She assumed they'd go on their way as though nothing had happened, the ride continuing quietly down the road.
But Kafka…
Kafka didn't pull back.
Instead, his lips lingered, moving softly against hers in slow, deliberate motions as if he wasn't even aware that they were still on the scooter, moving steadily along the street.
It was almost as though the road no longer mattered to him, as if all his focus and care were consumed by the kiss.
And Olivia, to her own dismay, found that she couldn't bring herself to stop either.
Every time she thought about pulling back, feeling her face burning, her chest rising and falling quicker, her lips would betray her. She'd press into him again, melting into his warmth, unable to resist.
