Chapter 13: A Dangerous Kiss
The storm had been raging for hours, but it wasn’t until the lights suddenly died that the world inside the house seemed to shrink to shadows and candlelight. The steady hum of appliances fell silent, replaced by the violent howl of wind and the relentless drumming of rain on glass.
Eve let out a soft, startled gasp — not loud enough to sound truly terrified, but perfectly pitched to pull his attention.
Daniel glanced at her with every concern in his voice. “You okay?” His voice was low, edged with that rough, casual concern he didn’t hand out often.
“I—” she hesitated, her tone trembling just enough, “I hate storms. And… blackouts.”
Lightning flared through the windows, briefly illuminating her face — wide, glistening eyes, parted lips, the vulnerable stillness of someone who seemed too delicate for this kind of night.
"Give me a moment, stay here and I'll be back in a minute," he gently pat on her hand before standing and walking out of the room. Eve felt cold as she was left behind alone.
He said it's for a minute, but every second was a feeling of an hour.
And as he promised, he was back with a candle in his hand. He kept it on the coffee table and quickly sat beside her.
"Blackouts never happen in this house, it's strange," he complained as he checked his phone. He received a text from the electricity department about the blackout due to heavy storms in the city.
Eve held his arms tightly as soon as there was a loud thunder.
He set his phone aside with a sigh, shifting toward her. “It’s just a storm, Eve.”
But she didn’t stay in her corner. Slowly, as if gravity itself was pulling her toward him, she slid across the couch. Her thigh brushed his, her bare arm grazing his sleeve. The faint scent of her perfume — warm vanilla with a teasing trace of something floral — curled around him, intimate and distracting.
“Can we… just stay like this? Until the lights come back?” she asked softly.
He hesitated. He knew he should’ve kept space between them. But her nearness was a heat all its own, and he didn’t move away. “Sure,” he said.
Outside, the wind rattled a door somewhere in the house. The rain lashed harder against the windows, and the candle Eve had just lit flickered, painting their faces in molten amber. The shadows blurred the sharpness of reality, softening everything.
Then she leaned a little closer. Not enough to be obvious — but enough that he could feel the faint heat radiating from her skin.
“Daniel,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
Her voice cracked, just slightly. “You make me feel safe.”
"What?" he was not sure what to reply. "I mean, why do you feel like that?"
"Whenever I need you, you are by my side" her eyes locked with his.
Something in him tensed. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes. In the glow of the candle, her face was stripped of the sly, careful control she usually wore. There was no smugness, no edge — only the quiet weight of something she wanted him to believe.
His reply was rougher than he meant it to be. “That’s… good, I guess.”
“It’s more than good,” she said, her voice steady now, but low. “No one’s made me feel like that in a long time.”
Her knees brushed his. He didn’t pull away. Her hand shifted — barely a movement — until her fingers touched the back of his on the couch cushion. She let them linger.
The air between them seemed to thicken, each breath a little shallower, a little quicker. He could hear the rain, the ticking of the candle’s wick, the faint rustle of fabric as she turned toward him.
And then she moved.
Her hand brushed up the back of his, then slowly along his forearm. His pulse kicked hard. She leaned in, her lips barely grazing his — not a real kiss, just the ghost of one, waiting for him to close the distance.
For a moment, he stayed frozen. Then her palm slid to his jaw, her thumb grazing the rough stubble there, and he felt something give way inside him.
The kiss began soft, almost cautious, a testing of forbidden edges. But the second she pressed closer, the taste of her pulling him in, it shifted — deepening, hungry without meaning to be. His hand found her waist, fingers curling into the warm curve there, pulling her subtly toward him.
Her breath hitched. She tilted her head, lips parting under his. His other hand slid up the length of her back, feeling the faint tremor that ran through her. She shifted until her thigh rested against his, closing the last inches between them.
Outside, thunder cracked so loud it rattled the glass, but inside, the storm had already crossed the threshold.
When they finally broke apart, they stayed close — foreheads nearly touching, their breathing uneven. Her lips glistened faintly in the dim light, curved in the faintest, dangerous smile.
“This doesn’t have to mean anything, right?” she whispered, her words contradicting the steady, burning look in her eyes.
Daniel didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could.
They were just too lost in that moment, their eyes locked. Urge of getting closer than this but afraid of how will it end up? They know they have already crossed their boundaries. And doing something more will be wrong?
"I don’t know," Daniel finally spoke. His hand travelled to the back of her head as he pulled Eve closer to his face. Again into a kiss, and this time it didn’t start slow but intense, wild and out of a spark that he felt after a long time, for real.
Meanwhile down the hall, somewhere in the darkness, a floorboard creaked.
They were too busy to hear it.
Eve’s hand was still on his jaw, her body still close, and neither of them moved.