ISABELLE'S POINT OF VIEW
His lips met mine in a kiss so deep and unhurried that it stole the air from my lungs. Every movement was deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize the feel of me, as if we had all the time in the world and he intended to use every single second.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was really happening. After all these years of loving him in silence, of watching him from the sidelines, of convincing myself he'd never see me this way... here we were.
His lips trailed from my neck to my shoulders, lingering at my collarbone with a tenderness that made my chest ache. Then he paused, lifting his gaze. His eyes fixed on my chest with a look that held both awe and hunger, as if my clothes stood between him and something he desperately needed.
"I want this off, Isabelle," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin, fingers tugging gently at the hem of my top.
My breath hitched. There was no going back from this. Did I want to go back?
No. God, no.
