Vicky's POV
His lips hovered dangerously close to mine, his breath warm and shaky.
"I—I'm s-sorry, I was just—"
"Too late for apologies…" he murmured, voice low and rough, before crashing his mouth against mine.
The kiss stole every coherent thought from my head. For a second, I froze, shocked, unprepared, overwhelmed. Then instinct kicked in, and my hands flew to his chest, only for my palm to graze the plastic film covering the wound near his shoulder.
He winced.
I jerked my hand back instantly. "Ollie, I'm sorry— I didn't mean to—"
He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes half-lidded with desire and frustration. "You keep apologizing today." His thumb brushed my cheek, slow, teasing. "How about… You make it up to me?"
He smiled, soft, boyish, devastating. "Kiss me instead."
My breath hitched. But I smiled back, cupped his jaw, and kissed him again, deeper this time. Hungrier. It felt like falling into a familiar dream I'd tried so hard to forget.
