Page 103 of Lost Then Found
I take the opening. Gently sweep her hair over her shoulder, baring her neck.
And I kiss her.
Right below her ear. Right where I know she feels it the most.
Slowly, with just enough pressure to mean something.
She sighs—soft and breathy—and I swear I feel it in my bones. That sound? I’d chase it to the ends of the earth if she’d let me.
Her body sways, like maybe—just maybe—she’s about to lean back into me. Like muscle memory, some old instinct, is pulling her in without permission.
For a second, I think she’s there. That we’re there.
But then it’s gone. She catches herself and stiffens, like a rope’s been pulled tight inside her. Like something just snapped into place—some reason, some rule she’s got written in stone now about me and her and why this can’t happen. Not again.
I should let it go. Give her space like I’ve been doing. Like I told myself I would.
But I don’t.
Not because I’m trying to win her over or prove some point, but because I miss her. Simple as that. Not just her, but the wayIwas when I was with her—how easy it was to justbe. No games, no pretending to be someone I’m not. Just Boone and Lark, figuring things out together, laughing at nothing, riding out to nowhere. I miss making her laugh more than anything—how she’d try not to, like it killed her to let me have the satisfaction, but then she’d give in, full and bright, and I’d feel like I could breathe again.
So I don’t step back. I move in. Slow, steady, no pressure, just…here. I kiss her because I can’t not kiss her. Because for once, I want something that makes sense. And right now, Lark makes sense. Even if it’s only for a second. Even if it complicates everything.
I know this is reckless. I know exactly what I’m risking—how fast this could all go up in flames, how easily we could burn down everything that’s just barely holding together. There’s history here, landmines we never cleared, words we never said out loud. Kissing her could be the match that lights up the whole damn thing.
But what if it isn’t?
What if she misses me like I miss her—bone-deep, waking up with it, carrying it around all day like an ache that won’t quit? What if there’s a part of her that still remembers the good stuff—the easy mornings, the way we used to talk like there was no one else on the planet? What if she wants to come back to that, too?
I’m not pretending this fixes anything. I’m not naive enough to think a kiss rewrites the past or smooths over the shit I left behind. But there’s a voice in my head—quiet, stubborn—that keeps asking,what if it’s not too late?
I press one more kiss to that spot, lips barely there, voice rough when I whisper against her skin, “Tell me to stop, Lark.”
She doesn’t. Her silence is an answer in itself.
So I kiss her again, harder this time, pressing my mouth to the soft, sweat-slicked skin of her neck. She tastes like salt and something tangy and wild, something that makes my blood run hotter.
Her breath shudders out, shaky and uneven, and then—she tilts her head. Just slightly. Just enough.
Enough to let me know to keep going.
My lips drag down the line of her throat, slow and reverent, brushing over the curve of her shoulder. She’s warm and soft beneath my mouth, skin flushed and damp with heat, and every inch I taste makes it harder to hold back.
My hands twitch at my sides, aching to touch her. To grip her. Claim her.
But I wait. Let her feel it. The weight of this moment. The space between what was and what still could be.
“If you tell me to stop, I will,” I murmur, my voice low, scraped raw against her skin.
She doesn’t say a word. Just exhales—quiet, shaky—like she’s holding back something bigger than breath.
Then she moves.
Just enough.
Her ass presses flush against me, and fuck, I feel it. The friction, the heat, the unmistakable grind of her body against mine. It slams through me like a lightning bolt, stealing the air from my lungs.
That’s it. That’s all I need.
