The sound he makes spears straight into her stomach and knots there, and her fingers tighten in his. If this were her time, she wouldn't waste a second, would just press up and sink her fingers into his hair and kiss him like she's been dying to do all evening.

But it's not her time, and she doesn't want to push him too far past his comfort level.

"If you felt like kissing me again," she tells him, her voice low, "you can. Blanket permission."