“Kam…what are we doing?”

She shrugged. She didn’t really know the answer to that question. All she knew was this was what she needed right now. “Just…be here for me?” she asked.

He reached out and took her face in one hand, lightly stroking her cheek with his thumb. She could feel the calluses on his hand, from rock climbing probably.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this, Kamila?” he whispered.

And this was why she was okay. Because Rohan would always make sure she was safe and protected first. He would always put out her fires. Putting out her fire right now meant staying as close as physically possible. She smiled softly and nodded, tilting her head to kiss his hand on her face. “Please,” she whispered.

And then he devoured her in a deep, all-consuming kiss. Holy heck, Kamila was reminded that he was a thoroughly excellent kisser. She shouldn’t have been surprised; he was exceptional at everything he did. She pressed herself closer against him, loving how their bodies molded together. Fit together.

He’d always been her friend—this was just that. Friendship—reinvented. Leveled up. She moaned quietly as she ran her fingers through his hair. His hands on her waist searched until they came into contact with her skin. He lifted her shirt a bit, a question in his eyes. She grinned and sat up, pulling the shirt over her head, then watched while he did the same with his own. Then they were chest to chest, and Kamila couldn’t believe how good it felt. She shivered as she felt his warmth envelop her. She closed her eyes and turned off her brain, because his skin against hers and his hands on her body were too perfect and she didn’t want to break this spell with reality. His head dipped to explore her chest with his mouth.

“Found it,” he whispered, and then he traced her tattoo with his tongue. She had a full body shudder, having no idea that her rib cage was such an erogenous zone. He moved back to her breasts and then up her neck. She clutched him tightly, feeling like Rohan had both thrown her overboard and was the only thing that could save her from drowning.

“Kam,” he whispered, before coming in for another devouring kiss. He still called her Kam, the name she’d preferred when she was younger. Even that day seven years ago, in her parents’ living room, he’d called her Kam and laughed as she’d straddled his lap. She’d never forgotten the feel of his body under hers. Of his strength, of his hands all over her.