For a moment, there was nothing else.
Just his hand on her cheek.
His voice still echoing in her chest.
That heat low in her stomach, pulling tight like a warning and a promise.
She didn't know how long they stood there.
Didn't care.
Everything else—the music, the bodies, the night—blurred into a hum behind the way his thumb brushes once, barely, against her skin.
And then she remembered where she was.
What this was.
Her breath caught, a flicker of panic rising just behind the haze. She blinked, took a half-step, just enough to remind herself she could.
He let her. Didn't chase.
His hand dropped slowly from her face, grazing the air like he was still holding the shape of her.
Elena swallowed, looking away for the first time in minutes.
Reality was rushing back in like cold air.
She hated that it felt like loss.
"I should go," she said, the words quiet and uneven.
He watched her. eyes steady. Jaw relaxed.
And then, with that same maddening calm, he said,
"No. I'll take you."
It wasn't a question or permission. It was a line in the sand, spoken without heat—but with total control.
She hesitated.
Then nodded once.
Of course he would be the one to end it.
He stepped back, hand brushing her lower back again—not possessive this time, just a guide—and they made their way out, past the blur of music and neon and people who hadn't felt what she'd just felt.
The pavement was cool underfoot, the street damp from some half-hearted drizzle earlier in the evening. The sounds of the club faded behind them—thump, laughter, glass. All of it suddenly too far away to feel real.
Elena walked a step ahead, her arms folded, the night breeze licking at the bare skin of her chest and thighs. Her body still felt too warm, too aware.
He didn't speak. He walked just beside her, hands in his pockets, his presence steady and grounded, like nothing had shifted at all—even though everything had.
She snuck a glance at him.
He was looking straight ahead, jaw relaxed, unreadable.
That pissed her off a little. Or maybe it didn't. Maybe she just wished she could pretend as easily.
Her car came into view—a sleek black silhouette beneath the amber haze of a streetlight.
Familiar. Safe. Distant.
"I didn't plan this," she muttered, more to herself than him.
His eyes flicked toward her. "I know."
Silence.
Then—
"I didn't stop it either," she added, voice softer this time. Like it mattered.
He didn't smile. Didn't gloat.
He just nodded once.
"That's not the part i noticed."
She blinked, not sure how to answer that.
So she didn't.
She reached for her keys, and he reached too—quietly, casually—taking them from her hand like it was nothing.
Then he opened the door for her.
No flair. No message. Just a clean, final move.
When se turned to him one last time, he was already stepping back.
"Goodnight, Elena."
His voice was low. Steady.
Just enough to keep her spinning.
Then he turned and walked away.
She slipped into the driver's seat, the door clicking shut behind her like it had locked something in with her.
The silence was heavier than outside.
No music.
No footsteps.
Just her breathing.
She didn't start the engine.
Her fingers curled around the wheel, but her knuckles weren't tight anymore. Her whole body had gone soft—loose in a way that made her feel both weightless and wrecked.
She could still feel his touch.
Not just the way his hand had cradles her cheek, or the warmth that lingered at her waist.
It was deeper than that.
He'd gotten inside her rhythm somehow.
Slipped under her skin without force, without permission—just presence.
And she'd let him.
That was what made her chest tighten.
Not the moment itself—but the fact she'd wanted it.
That she'd leaned in, even slightly. That she'd felt something raw and real take shape in the middle of all her carefully built distance.
The way he looked at her.
The way he didn't push.
Like he could see the mess inside her and wanted it anyway.
It wasn't just attraction.
It wasn't even just lust.
It was recognition.
And it scared the hell out of her.
She sat there for a long minute, eyes unfocused, heart still uneven, lips parted like the words hadn't found their way out yet.
Then she leaned her head back against the seat, closed her eyes and exhaled like it burned.
"Shit."