And it wasn’t until that very moment that it clicked. I couldn’t say whether my suddenly thudding heart tipped me off, or if the thudding was in response to my realization. It all happened in one dizzying, thrilling moment, one messy tangle of conscious and subconscious. Brougham’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his chin had tilted, and his mouth was slightly open so I could hear his breathing. The air between us was buzzing with unseen energy, jumping and sparking off my skin and willing me to get closer to him. And we both hung suspended in time and space, and the moment that was about to happen came into sharp focus. Like I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.

But I didn’t want to stop it.

His hands came to my waist first. Warm and large and gentle-pressured. He pulled me, just slightly. A question. I answered it by moving with them.

Then his face was only inches from mine, and all I could feel was his body heat and a shuddering something thundering around in my torso and all I could see was his lips, then my eyes closed of their own accord.

And he kissed me.

He kissed me.

He kissed me, and his lips were pillow-soft, and his mouth was gentle against mine. Warm.

He kissed me, and he tasted of chlorine, and I was vaguely aware of his hands still on either side of my waist, and as soon as his lips met mine, they squeezed and tensed, grabbing onto me like I was the only thing keeping him upright.

He kissed me, and it was hesitant and questioning. Is this okay? Do you understand now?

I didn’t. I didn’t understand anything. But the only thing that mattered in that moment was keeping him close. And then I was kissing him back, pushing into him until his back collided with the passenger door of his car. My fingers slipping up his neck, tracing his sharp jawbone. My other hand finding his on the warm metal of the door, resting over his smooth skin.

He gave a small moan against my mouth and suddenly all rational thought vanished. My hands flew up around his shoulders and pulled him in harder, deeper. I was flush against him, his chest against mine, my fingers threaded through his damp hair, his tongue running along my bottom lip. He let out a thick breath as his hips lifted to meet mine, and I almost lost all sense entirely.

And this was Brougham.

It was Brougham.

It was Brougham.