He could no longer hold out against the intoxicating scent of her perfume, or the siren's call of her shallow breath. He had wanted her to cave first, to kiss him, but he couldn't wait for her to pull the trigger. He closed the distance between them in every respect: his lips on hers; leaning his body in so she was pressed up against the door they'd come in through; his hands on both sides of her face keeping her from pulling away too soon. This was the height of selfishness, allowing himself to kiss her, but he couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty about it when she'd egged him on at every turn. She wanted this too, he knew. She wanted him.

Which had some dizzying implications for life once they left the closet, but — he couldn't think too hard about any of them while he was kissing her.

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