Ivan leaned in. His hand moved gently, almost afraid to touch, yet it found its way to her lips. His fingers brushed them softly, like a whisper. Then he tucked her hair behind her ear, slow and tender, as though even that small touch was too much for him to claim.
Lydia slowly leaned back until her body rested against the bed. Ivan hovered over her, his breath shallow, his heart heavy with something he could not name. His lips moved closer, closer still. But at the very last moment, he stopped. His body froze. He could not do it. He felt as if he was stealing something precious, something he had no right to take. He could not kiss her. Not properly.
Then her voice broke the silence. It was soft, calm, almost like a caress itself.
"Ivan," she whispered.
The sound of her voice shattered what little restraint he had left. He wanted to stop, but he could not. He leaned closer, surrendering. His lips brushed against hers, faint as a breath, trembling with fear and longing.
