Summary: What if Lois and Clark actually got more of their first actual kiss? What if Clark had made it to save Mayson on time? Things change in the most surprising yet logical way in this “Lucky Leon” fix-it.
Author’s Note: This is what happens when you don’t have an actual idea in your head...or something? I mean... I *had* an idea... that Clark needed to hurry his butt up so Mayson wouldn’t die because he totally had time and then he wouldn’t be a mopey jerk face and let Dan mess around for like 5 eps. Right? And so...me being me, I
thought this was going to be a short thing. I was just gonna have them kiss, like, actually get most all of that kiss in! And then Clark runs fast enough to save Mayson, end of story, they can keep dating and be happy. But nope...it turned into a whole thing. A WHOLE thing! With the dang a-plot and everything.
But, as also happens to me a lot...amazing things happened! Like...really amazing. I really, really love how this one turned out, even though I had to fight with it at times! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
AnnaBtG makes fun of me for collecting BRs...and she’s not wrong. It’s my impatience to share and my need for constant validation (we all have imposter syndrome, right?). But in any case, I need to thank AnnaBtG and SuperBek and Socomama and lovetvfan and Queen of the Capes. They all had valuable comments and suggestions that helped make this fic the awesome that it is!! Huger thanks to SuperBek who prodded me to finish and held my hand and then prodded some more.
And a special thanks to Verity (PuffyTiger) for her fervent words about Lois in Discord that inspired a certain paragraph at the end. I imagine she’ll know which one.
Fortunately, There Are No Doors Here Tonightby KSaraSara
Chapter 1
“You slammed the door in my face last night,” Clark said, pausing their walking and turning towards her. Lois paused too, her breath catching a bit in her chest at the underlying question. His voice was gentle, but he wanted to know. Deserved to know.
Equal parts excitement and anticipation thrummed throughout her body. “That was...a mistake,” she said, her voice and her posture softening, somewhat unconsciously, knowing that he’d already put his heart on the line twice for her. She shouldn’t have...
“Don’t let it happen again.” He inched closer as he spoke, somehow letting her know all in one breath that her behavior since the end of their date last night had hurt him but also that he held no room in his heart for resentment. There was only room for her.
And she knew...this was it, this was the moment where it all really changed, the kiss at the end of the date that declared it a success. She’d delayed it, afraid that it would spell the end, that Lois Lane and her penchant for ruining relationships would single-handedly destroy not only their chance at romance but their friendship and partnership as well.
Now, as she leaned closer, her breathing shallow, she was almost excited, giddy about hanging on this precipice. Her voice was breathy as she tilted her head up, looking into those devastatingly handsome brown eyes as she spoke. “I guess we’ll just have to see how things go, won’t we?”
Her heart raced even faster as she felt herself being drawn closer, her eyes flitting to his full lips and back to his eyes. And he told her, speaking more with his gaze and the warmth and desire that seemed to radiate off of him, that there weren’t any doors here tonight.
There was no more room for mistakes or getting scared except for the thrillingly terrifying feeling of longing and anticipation skating along her spine and down to her toes. There was only Clark. Right in front of her, drifting ever closer as his eyes darted down to her lips and back.
Her breath caught just a little, and she found herself leaning towards those lips. “Fortunately...” she whispered back to him.
Everything seemed in slow motion but for the wild racing of her heart as his lips so slowly and tenderly captured hers. It was brief but intoxicating, every nerve ending alighting as their lips touched, and he pulled back ever so slightly. And then, after a gasp or a sigh, she wasn’t sure which, she was falling back into him. Her arms found their way around his back, and the warmth of his hand as he cradled her cheek and deepened the kiss only intensified things.
She heard little whimpers and moans and breaths but couldn't be sure if she was the one making them—all she knew was the intense desire and sense of rightness she felt. And she never wanted it to end.
All too soon, he was pulling away, the warmth of his lips disappearing and leaving her bereft. She opened her eyes to see him already a foot away, his shoulders turned but his gaze still on her and his brow furrowed in some kind of anguish. Before she could even react, she saw his eyes do some sort of dance—down the street, to his shoes, and back to her eyes—and she saw a look she’d never forget. It was regret and longing and admission all in one as his body finished its turn away from her and sped half a block away.
Sped.
As in, he was in front of her and then he was down the street half a block, standing in front of a silver sedan and ripping the driver’s side door off as if no time at all had passed.
The seconds it took for her mind to connect back up with her body and tell it to move felt like an eternity. She watched in horror as the car exploded and engulfed Clark in a barrage of fire and smoke and debris. And she ran towards him as soon as her legs would move.
As the plume of fire and smoke cleared and she drew closer, Lois saw Clark still standing, cradling a woman in his arms who appeared to be unconscious.
“Oh my god! Is she okay?” Lois cried out as she came to stand next to Clark, slightly breathless from the short sprint. Her hand clapped over her mouth when she looked at the woman and saw who it was—Mayson.
The acrid stench of chemicals and smoke made her cough and burned in her nostrils, and she could feel the heat from the car still smoldering beside them. Clark stood there for a long moment, as if frozen with indecision or panic. The arm of his coat and the sleeve underneath looked to have been torn open by shrapnel, the material shredded in long, jagged slices that revealed a familiar shock of blue beneath.
She could feel her mind processing everything at what must have been close to super speed even though it felt like the world around her was moving so slowly, and she gasped as he turned slightly. A large swath of his jacket and shirt was just gone—a rough, singed outline of where he must have taken the brunt of the blast. The blue material underneath almost shone in the glow of the street lamps, and she wondered for half a second where the cape must be.
Lois took a step closer to the still-dazed Clark, knowing he couldn't be seen in this state as he was by anyone else. “Clark, you need to go call 911!”
“No, Lois, I need to—”
She touched his arm...running her fingers purposefully along the blue spandex through the rips in his shirt and said again, slowly, “You
need to go call 911. Mayson looks okay—I know you’d have already rushed her to the hospital if she wasn’t—I’ll be right here with her.”
As if she'd flipped a switch, she watched him transform right before her eyes, Clark's uncertainty morphing into Superman's stoic and reassuring presence.
He gave her a quick nod before he gently laid a still-unconscious Mayson down on the sidewalk in front of her office building. Lois watched as, all in the span of half a second, he scanned the area around them and then puffed out his cheeks to blast the car with his cooling breath, putting out the last licks of flame and clearing the tendrils of smoke.
His eyes found hers, and the look of trepidation and remnants of desire—Clark's eyes on Superman's face, still wearing Clark's ruined suit—made her pulse race and some unknown emotion tug at her heart. She watched, her mind still reeling, as he took half a step towards her and hesitated. The anguish in his eyes, his furrowed brow, stole her breath, and before she could even think about what it meant, he’d closed the distance between them and cupped her cheek, so briefly, and was gone with a whoosh.
Lois stared after him for long seconds, catching her breath, the slight warmth from his hand still on her skin, before movement out of the corner of her eye brought her attention back to the current situation. People were starting to trickle toward the scene, hesitance and morbid curiosity slowing their approach. She was glad to hear the familiar whoosh again and the sound of Superman’s boots hitting the pavement before anyone got too close and started to question why the fire was already out and the victim not in Superman’s arms.
Everything still seemed a bit in slow motion, her mind racing faster than time could possibly pass. Turning to find him, she was struck by how different he looked—not just from a minute ago, when he was Clark, but from how Superman normally looked. He gave her another slightly anguished look, his eyes saying far more than he could voice, and then he changed again—straightening to stand just that much taller and schooling his face.
And then time caught back up with her mind as she watched him rush to Mayson’s side and crouch down to try and rouse her. “Ms. Drake, can you hear me? Ms. Drake?”
Everyone stood back a considerable distance, having halted in deference to Superman’s presence, and Lois moved to join Clar—Superman at Mayson’s side. Superman was reaching, about to pick Mayson up when she moaned and shifted.
“Wh-what happened?”
“Ms. Drake, there was an explosive device in your car. I—I managed to pull you out in time, but the force of the explosion must have knocked you unconscious. I’m going to take you to the hospital to get checked out, just to be sure.”
Lois watched and listened, her mind still processing—it was surreal, hearing Superman’s voice and steady tone, but also small hints of Clark when there was hesitation or a stronger emotion.
“I...uh, I think I’m fine,” Mayson said as she moved to sit up, faltering with an odd sort of reluctance before taking Superman’s proffered arm to help her all the way to standing. “And I hear sirens in the distance already, so I should probably stay here to answer questions. The paramedics can just check me out. But...uh, thank you, Superman. Thank you for saving my life.”
“I’m glad I was nearby when I heard the timing device click on,” he said, his voice so very Superman-like, though Lois wasn’t sure she’d ever noticed so much undercurrent emotion from him before. It seemed almost obvious now, Clark’s relief that somehow carried with it a shade of regret. He crossed his arms over his chest, almost as though he was feeling a bit exposed, and looked off in the distance, presumably to check how close the emergency vehicles were.
There was an awkward air of silence layered over the background sounds of sirens approaching and murmurings from onlookers and the odd tinking of metal as the remnants of Mayson’s car warmed and settled. Lois wasn’t sure if it was because she knew it was Clark beneath the suit or if he was actually feeling unsettled and a bit self-conscious, not making eye contact with either her or Mayson.
In a desperate need to fill the silence—and a sudden, deep yearning to ease Clark’s discomfort—Lois turned to him and said, “I can stay with Mayson until the ambulance gets here, Superman, if...you have...other things to attend to...”
She watched him process her words and realized she must have been
too vague because he was eyeing her as if he wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell him. Honestly, she wasn’t entirely sure either.
Mayson’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to stay and give your statement to the police, Superman?”
Lois watched him flinch, almost imperceptibly, but it was there, and so was the tick in his jaw. “I...you’re right. I probably should stick around, given the nature of the event.” He turned to Lois. “I can give you a lift home, Ms. Lane, if you need, and come back?” he offered, almost as if he hadn’t wanted Mayson to get the last word in about his comings and goings.
“I’m fine, Superman. I’ll wait for Clark to walk me home,” she said, gesturing widely with her arm somewhere behind her in the direction they’d come from. “Besides, I saw what happened too—should probably give a statement.”
Superman nodded, almost absently.
“Where
is Clark? Wasn’t he supposed to come with you?” Mayson asked, her tone softening considerably as she looked around, clearly hoping to see him.
Lois felt her hackles rise, but she did her best to keep the bite from her tone. The woman had almost died, after all. “He was...supposed to meet me here, but he must have gotten caught up at work with another story. But I’m sure...he’ll be here as soon as he can.” Lois looked to Clark, hoping these words couldn’t be misinterpreted.
He closed his eyes for just a moment and then gave her an almost imperceptible nod along with a tight smile. She sighed with relief that he seemed to understand her message. Was this what it would be like from now on? She used to fall all over herself to talk to Superman, used to long to be the focus of his attentions. But all she could think about right now was that she couldn’t go to her best friend and wrap her arms around him, giving him the hug he so desperately needed.
Mayson was muttering something off to the side, clearly disappointed that Clark wasn’t here for her to fawn over. It was some kind of cruel irony that Clark
was here, but Mayson could barely tolerate his presence. Lois wondered if owing her life to Superman would make Mayson feel any differently toward him, if she’d be able to realize that he was so much more than a “vigilante in tights.”
She could almost pity the woman, if she didn’t hate her so much. Lois did her best not to glower over at Mayson, but it hit Lois then—taking in the sight of Mayson’s black-smudged face and clothing that had hints of singeing—just how horribly wrong the night would have gone if she and Clark hadn’t run late. A shiver ran through her. As much as she disliked Mayson, she didn’t wish her any harm.
But that meant there
was someone out there who did wish to harm the Assistant District Attorney. Which also meant she and Clark had a new story on their hands, and while part of her was itching to get started on the investigation to put this dangerous criminal behind bars, there wasn’t much of anything they could do about it until tomorrow.
Two police cruisers, a fire truck, and an ambulance all arrived then in quick succession. There was a flurry of activity as she, Mayson, and Superman were all questioned by the police and the firefighters. At some point, a crime scene unit and the fire chief showed up as well to assess the car and talk with Superman. While Mayson was getting examined by the paramedics in the back of the ambulance, Lois overheard the fire chief convincing the officer in charge that Superman had assured them there was no need to call out the bomb squad. They’d have the car’s remnants towed straight to the crime lab for processing.
After what seemed like forever, the ambulance left with Mayson—the paramedics having convinced her it would be best to be checked out by a doctor to be safe, and the emergency workers seemed to give Superman some indication that it was all right to fly off. Everything at the scene seemed to be wrapping up—the firefighters cleaning up shrapnel and debris, and a tow truck hauling off Mayson’s car.
Lois was suddenly feeling incredibly tired after everything that had happened, especially this last hour or more at the scene of the bombing. A bombing. There’d been a bomb in Mayson’s car.
Mayson had almost died.
Lois had seen...worse things...happen to people, but never someone she knew. And Clark, god...was he even doing okay? While Lois was now a bit more secure in the knowledge that he hadn’t ever been serious about dating Mayson, Clark was still...he was still friends with Mayson, wasn’t he? And he wasn’t the type of guy who was unaffected by such things.
All of a sudden, it hit her with such clarity why he always seemed to be in a mood when there’d been some natural disaster, why he’d always seemed so critical of Superman when the hero had been “less than super” or...too late. Oh, Clark!
Her breath stuttered in her chest, and she could feel her heart racing once more. She needed to see him again, make sure he was okay. Adjusting the strap of her briefcase on her shoulder for the second time in as many minutes, she scanned the sidewalk and opening of the nearest alleyway, unsure of which direction Clark would be returning from.
“Hey,” his soft voice came from behind her.
Relief flooded her at the sound of his voice. She turned and saw him just a few feet away, rubbing at the back of his neck and giving her a nervous smile as he closed the distance between them with slow strides. Her heart raced wildly and butterflies danced in her stomach as she wondered how he was feeling, whether he was okay.
“Hey,” she replied. He looked so different. She’d just seen him, not two minutes ago, but it almost felt like she hadn’t, not since he’d first come back to the scene dressed in the familiar red and blue but wearing Clark’s expression. But now he was all Clark...wearing a very similar expression to the one he’d worn while asking her out—a nervous kind of confidence, his chocolate brown eyes cautious but wanting.
And when she saw no trace of self-reproach on his features, no apparent guilt about what had just transpired with Mayson, a wave of relief washed through her. She wondered how he’d ever managed—dashing off for a rescue only to return to a seethingly mad partner—how he found the strength most times to act like everything was okay when it wasn’t.
...how he always came back to her, without fail. Again and again and again.
She held back a gasp. He loved her.
There was no doubt in her mind now, as the silence stretched awkwardly around them, the cacophony of emergency crews still cleaning up somehow muffled, maybe from the way her pulse was racing in her ears.
He ran his hand through his hair and gave her another smile, this one still anxious, but the sight of it made her flush with warmth all the same.
“You changed,” she said, gesturing to his clothing. “I—I mean of course you
changed changed, you know.” She could feel her cheeks heating up. “But I meant you changed...a different suit. Uh, right, of course...you would have needed to because the other one...blew up—I mean...well, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, sorry, that’s why it took me a minute longer to get back.”
“It—it’s okay. It wasn’t so long.” The awkwardness was only bearable because it was with Clark. Even though she couldn’t seem to figure out how to string words together to form an intelligent sentence, she knew deep down it would be okay. He was okay, and she was okay. They would be okay.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked, the hesitancy in his own voice reassuring her a bit more.
Giving him a nod seemed a bit safer than trying to talk again right this minute. He tipped his head in the direction of her apartment, and they started walking together, eventually leaving the diminishing noise and chaos of the bombing scene far behind them.
His hand brushed accidentally against hers several times as they made their way to her apartment, and she wished he would take hold of it. But she knew they were both too nervous, too unsure after everything that had happened.
Mayson. The bomb. The revelation. The kiss.
The kiss—oh god, that kiss—had made everything seem so clear, so right. No kiss had ever made her feel so alive, so desired, so loved...except maybe the one she’d shared with Superman on the tarmac of the small airfield, though even that paled in comparison. But all along, that had been Clark—mild-mannered but also apparently super and always in love with her Clark.
Her mind warred against her heart, trying to convince it that he'd lied to and deceived her and deserved her wrath. But her heart was far more vocal and far more persuasive. He hadn’t done it to hurt her, and when it had come right down to it, he’d revealed himself in front of her—a split-second decision about the single biggest secret of his life. And that had to mean there was a monumental amount of trust he had in her.
Lois snuck a glance at him as they walked, wondering what he was thinking about. He was biting his lower lip ever so slightly, and the thought flitted through her mind that she would very much like the chance to bite his lip too.
Oh god, she shouldn’t be thinking that. Should she?
Mayson had almost died, and...well, Mayson was okay. Clark didn’t
seem to be brooding, though he was walking a bit more stiffly beside her than he usually did. Her mind flashed back to a few months ago, when Superm—when Clark had been too late to save all of the people in a bridge collapse. She’d fussed at him, irritated that he would be criticizing Superman, especially when he was likely blaming himself already. Not that Superman should be, she’d clarified. Then she’d gone on to lecture Clark on how it was times like those that they should be on the ground, digging into and exposing the corrupt politicians who were really to blame with their misappropriation of infrastructure funding and special interest lobbying.
God...if she’d known it was him... She choked back a desperate laugh at the thought that she’d yelled at Clark because he wasn’t being more supportive of Superman. Now that she knew... God, why did that make the idea of extending sympathy and support to him seem so much more daunting?
He was Clark. And Clark was...so...real, so vulnerable.
Impulsively, she grabbed for his hand—to reassure him—but a heated and anxious tingling flooded every part of her body as they touched, and she almost felt guilty for it, for feeling this way when she’d meant to comfort. But then his warm fingers instantly curled around her hand more fully, and he looked over for just a second, their eyes meeting. He gave her a hesitant smile and squeezed her hand.
God, was this... Was this what dating your partner was like? Dating your best friend? Someone you...loved?
Was he feeling the same way? The tingling and the heat of desire and the nervous anticipation of what came next?
And what
was next? They needed to talk, she knew, but that was bound to be all sorts of scary and uncomfortable. Kissing, however, that had been comfortable. Very comfortable. She swallowed hard, her body flushing at the memory of that kiss, his lips so soft and warm against hers and his hand on her hip, fingers flexing as though he itched to pull her closer. That same hand that still held hers so securely as they walked.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and then another, trying to calm her racing heart. It was late enough now that the city's noises had faded to a low din, and she could actually hear the cadence of their footsteps against the sidewalk as they finally neared her apartment.
When they rounded the last corner and started up the stairs to her building, she realized with a start that this was how the night had ended last night too—except now,
everything was different. Last night, they definitely hadn’t been holding hands. He’d opened the door and followed her in, his hand on the small of her back. But as much as she secretly loved that, tonight she was feeling suddenly very reluctant to let go of his hand. She wasn’t ready yet.
Apparently, he wasn’t either, because he simply reached out with his right hand and opened the door, letting her lead them through it, holding her hand the entire time. Even on the elevator ride up and the walk down the hallway to her front door, he didn’t let go.
And now, here they were at the door to her apartment. Again. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours. He was still holding her hand, and she had no idea what to do next. Other than not slamming the door in his face.
Did she kiss him again? Could she kiss him again?
She watched as he raked his free hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose we should probably...I mean, I’m sure you wanted me to...”
“Kiss me,” she breathed. Oh god, had she said that out loud?
“...talk,” he finished, his voice hoarse. She could almost see the heat rising in his cheeks, and she felt his grip on her hand tighten ever so slightly.
He was standing there, looking so unsure, searching her eyes for something he should be finding but...maybe he was too scared to think he’d found it.
“Clark...” she whispered, stepping towards him until there was hardly any space between them. “Kiss me.”
The air hung charged between them for long seconds, but she could feel his breathing had quickened. His thumb ran slowly along the back of her hand once, then a second time with just a little more pressure as his gaze danced between her lips and her eyes. Then, finally, he let go of her hand and brought his own up to her face, cupping her cheek and threading his fingers through her hair.
“Lois...” he rasped.
The words started to form on her lips once more, but she didn’t need to ask again. His head dipped down, and he captured her mouth in a desperate, almost possessive kiss. Her toes curled and her heart lifted, chasing after everything he was offering. If he’d been holding back before, he wasn’t now. She couldn’t get enough of the way he tasted and the way his lips and tongue moved against hers, knowingly, familiar, as if he’d been kissing her for a lifetime already.
She melted into him, her hands running up along his shoulders and to the nape of his neck, and she urged him to kiss her more deeply, if that was even possible. His other hand was on her hip again, fingers flexing, but still not pulling her closer even though she almost ached to feel his body flush against her own.
Instead, she felt him gentle his kisses, slower and less desperate with each caress of his lips. He pulled back slightly but she followed, as if by some magnetic force, her lips capturing his once more before retreating.
They both stood there, catching their breath, and he took half a step back as though he needed just that much more distance between them.
“Oh god,” she breathed, her hands resting on his shoulders, steadying herself. “Wow.”
He nodded, still looking a little dazed.
She still had no idea what came next, but if it involved more of that...
Lois watched as he took a couple deep breaths, and some look seemed to cross his face, some internal decision he’d come to. “Can we talk?”
“Talk?” She couldn’t even think straight with his hands still at her hips. Talking certainly sounded like a logical next step, but all of a sudden, inviting her partner in for coffee after a long day seemed like a really dangerous proposition. She didn’t trust herself, not if he kissed like that when he wasn’t holding back, when there weren’t any secrets between them anymore.
“Yeah...” He let his hands fall to his side as he blew out a deep breath, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Secrets. A secret. The secret. Somehow, she’d all but forgotten. “Oh! Oh right. About...” Her eyes dropped down, following her hands as they slid down from his shoulders and came to rest over his chest.
He inhaled sharply, his chest rising slightly under her hands, and it seemed like, for a moment, he was struggling to find the right words, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw his fingers flex at his sides, almost as if he was talking himself out of putting his hands over hers. She wished he would.
But as the silence stretched on for a long moment, she let her hands fall back to her sides and tried not to fidget.
Finally, he spoke. “I...there are some things...well, I wanted to...explain, I guess. We have...a lot to talk about,” he said, giving her a weak smile. “Can I come in?”
She tried to keep her breath from catching, but failed. And he’d noticed. “I—I...it’s late, Clark. And it can wait, really. I promise. But it’s been a long day and we have a big story to start chasing down in the morning—figuring out who put a hit out on the ADA—so we should probably get some sleep. Right?”
His expression was guarded now, but she hadn’t missed the flicker of hurt and uncertainty in his eyes. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“We’ll talk. We will, Clark,” she rushed to assure him as she felt around blindly for her briefcase before realizing that it had fallen to the floor. She blushed and bent over to pick it up and quickly fished her keys out to start unlocking her apartment door. As the last of the locks disengaged, she opened the door and then turned back around to face him, her keys in one hand and the briefcase in the other. “So, I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow...”
“Tomorrow...” he echoed tightly. She watched his jaw tic, and she found herself unable to meet his eyes.
What was she doing? The nervous energy running through her wasn’t so different from last night. She still had no idea what came next or what to do or what to say. No, that wasn’t true—talking, that’s what came next, but not tonight. Tomorrow.
But suddenly, tomorrow and all its possibilities seemed far too quickly approaching, yet somehow not nearly soon enough. Should she invite him in?
“Lois...” Her name sounded more like a plea, and she couldn’t help but hear the traces of anguish in his voice. She’d been standing silent too long, avoiding eye contact, and he could probably very well hear the triphammering of her heart.
Her breath caught and her eyes went wide as she realized what he must be thinking, that her behavior in the last two minutes must seem like she was about to run, hide, slam the door in his face again. She shook her head at him, finally meeting his eyes.
“Clark...” Her briefcase and keys hit the floor with a thump and a clatter, and in two quick strides she closed the distance between them, cupping his face with both hands and pulling him in for a desperate kiss. He accepted eagerly, his hands coming up to settle at her hips. As their lips met again and again, she tried to put all of her emotions into her kiss—the excitement, the fear, the desire, the uncertainty, and the way she felt so safe and so loved when she was in his arms.
When they finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, and she let her fingers trace his jawline before settling her hands at the nape of his neck. “It’s not...this isn’t...I wasn’t going to slam the door in your face.”
She could see his smile and feel the small puff of breath from a laugh against her skin. “Good. I think I like this much better.” He shifted to press a brief kiss to her lips.
“It’s just that I have a lot to process, and when you kiss me like that, I can’t think straight.”
“Like this?” He tilted his head and dipped in for another kiss, capturing her lips tantalizingly slow. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth and she granted it willingly, and his fingers pressed into her hip again as his other hand came up to cup her face. Slowly, after her whole body was tingling with desire again, he pulled back and met her eyes as he drew his thumb softly against her cheek.
She let out a shaky breath and nodded.
“So...” he started, less assuredness in his voice this time, “you’re...okay with...everything?”
“Yeah,” she said softly, reveling in the warmth of his hand still against her skin. “I think so, assume so. Like I said, lots to process...and we still have to talk.”
“Tomorrow?” he asked, a slight edge of hope and uncertainty still in his voice.
“I promise. But first...the story,” she said, feeling hesitant until he gave her that lopsided grin of his.
“I’ll bring coffee.”
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