After the deep, passionate kissing that felt like it was gonna last forever, Darren and Penelope sat on the sofa, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the quiet.
Her hands clung to his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as if anchoring herself to him, while his thumb traced slow, reverent circles along her jaw.
Penelope's eyes, glistening with a mix of laughter and unshed tears, met his. "Mister," she whispered, "what are we doing?"
Darren's chuckle was low, raw, a sound that vibrated through her. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice husky, "but I don't want to stop."
Her lips curved into a shy, radiant smile, and she leaned in, brushing her nose against his. "Me neither," she murmured innocently, and the words were a spark, igniting something fierce and unspoken between them.
Darren stared into her eyes, then gulped. She leaned in, knowing he wanted to and kissed him hard.
