Upon hearing this, Serena Stanton froze.
She lay across his chest, tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes still glazed with sleep, like rouge blossoms shrouded in spring rain—misty, alluring, yet crisp and clean.
"Why stop kissing?" Adrian cupped her waist, his palm teasingly kneading, "Hmm?"
"So tired." Serena breathed in his familiar scent, murmuring, "Don't want to move."
Adrian lifted her face, his fingertips caressing her skin, and suddenly pressed her down, raising his head to claim her lips. His kiss was laced with a searching tenderness, alternating gently and fiercely, cherishing her as if she were something precious—reluctant to harm, but unable to quell that restless, destructive urge.
It reminded Serena of their kisses when young—awkward, yet drawn irresistibly close, their teeth accidentally grazing lips, bringing a sweetly numb sting.
Both their hearts and bodies burned with innocence and desire.
Under his teasing, Serena's breath gradually grew uneven.
