(Ella's Perspective)
After the Kiss
I couldn't sleep.
My body was still humming, my lips still tingling, and my heart wouldn't stop flipping in my chest.
The kiss kept replaying in my mind: Joe's hands on my face, the way he kissed me like he had been holding that moment in for too long.
And the worst part?
I wanted more.
I pressed my fingers to my mouth like it could somehow calm the ache rising beneath my skin.
It wasn't just physical, though God. The way he kissed it was something else entirely. Something that left me unsteady.
I don't remember the exact moment our lips met. Maybe it was when the words stopped making sense between us.
Maybe it was when the silence became louder than our conversation. But I remember the feeling." Every inch of it".
His lips on mine were warm. Firm. Steady. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just... sure. Like he had waited long enough and finally decided it was time.
And I had let him, no hesitation, no resistance. My heart had been racing long before the kiss began.
And now, in the echo of it, it thudded like a drum behind my ribs, wild and breathless.
He was still close when we pulled apart, his breath brushing my cheek, his hand still resting against my face.
My fingertips trembled where they rested lightly on his chest.
I could feel his heart there too, thudding just as wildly. We were mirrors, both of us caught off guard by the depth of something we hadn't fully named yet.
I didn't say anything at first. I didn't trust my voice.
What would I even say?
I'd been wondering how his lips would feel. That I'd imagined this in the quiet spaces of my thoughts far more than I was proud to admit?
Now that it had happened, the ground beneath me felt less solid, more like I was floating into something I couldn't control.
I wasn't ready to speak it aloud.
So I stepped back gently, enough to breathe. Enough to steady the noise inside me.
But I didn't move too far. I didn't want to. My body still remembered the weight of his closeness, the way his touch had softened me.
His eyes were locked on mine, searching, steady, calm, but there was something else there, too. Heat. Longing. Something restrained but barely.
The moment felt smaller now. Or maybe it was me. I felt smaller in the moment, like a version of myself stripped of every defense I'd worn until now.
I took a slow breath and met his gaze. "That… wasn't planned," I murmured, my voice hoarse, uncertain.
Joe's lips curled into a soft smile. "No," he said, voice low and honest. "But it wasn't a mistake either."
I looked away, trying to gather the pieces of myself again. This wasn't like me. I wasn't impulsive when it came to things like this.
Especially not with someone like him. Especially not when things were this… fragile.
The way he looked at me was like I was more than the version I let people see.
The way he flirted without pressure, but with meaning.
The way he never pushed but never stepped too far back either.
And now, here we were. "After the kiss".
When a man kisses you like that, like he sees something inside you even though you're not sure it exists, it opens up a door you can't close.
And now that the door was open, I was standing in the hallway, heart in my hands, wondering what was waiting on the other side.
I touched my lips as if the memory of him was still there. I leaned against the bathroom sink and let the silence of the apartment wrap around me like a blanket.
Everything felt different.
As if the kiss had pulled something loose inside of me, a quiet truth I'd buried beneath work, structure, distance, and distraction.
The truth?
I wanted him.
Not just in the way desire sneaks up on you in dimly lit rooms.
I wanted his nearness. His steady calm.
His hands tracing places words could never reach.
His voice calling me by name like it meant something more.
And for the first time in a long while, I didn't want to run from that feeling.
I slipped under my sheets that night and closed my eyes with his name dancing in my mind.
I wasn't in love yet, but I was on the edge of something. Something soft. Something real. Something I couldn't deny any longer.
After the kiss, nothing had been spoken. No promises. No titles. No declarations.
But in that quiet, charged moment, a beginning had been written.
And I was finally ready to read it.
(Joe's Perspective).
She tasted like the breath before a confession, soft, warm, slightly unsure, but filled with something inevitable.
When our lips parted, I didn't move.
I didn't want to.
Her eyes were wide, her fingers still curled near my chest as if she wasn't sure whether to pull away or hold on.
The air between us had changed completely, like something had cracked open, and we were
standing in the aftermath of it, feeling everything that had been building quietly in shadows finally step into the light.
I'd wanted to kiss her for weeks.
Hell, maybe longer. I just didn't let myself feel it fully until today.
I kept it under control the way I watched her when she wasn't looking, the way my pulse jumped whenever she laughed, the way my mind would drift to her name when my day went quiet.
But when she looked at me today, right before I leaned in, I swear, she was glowing.
Not in some poetic, overly dramatic way. She just looked open. Present. Her defenses are down. I didn't take that moment lightly.
And then I kissed her.
It wasn't a kiss meant to prove anything. It wasn't about timing, or claiming, or even hoping for more.
It was about her.
And the feeling that had been sitting in my chest for too long, that soft, constant ache that said: She matters.
When she stepped back slightly, I let her. She needed space. And I respected that.
But my hand lingered on her arm a beat longer, my fingers memorizing the warmth of her skin like a secret I wasn't ready to let go.
"That wasn't planned," she said softly, her voice slightly shaken.
"No," I answered quietly. "But it wasn't a mistake either."
Because if I hadn't kissed her, I would've walked away tonight knowing I'd held something back. Something real.
She's thoughtful, layered. She doesn't dive headfirst; she listens to her gut, measures what's in front of her.
I admire that about her, even if it drives me a little crazy sometimes.
I could see her thinking, even as she smiled faintly and told me she needed to process it all. She wasn't brushing it off.
She was just being careful with something fragile.
With us.
And I appreciated that more than she'll probably ever know.
All I could think about was the taste of her lip gloss. The way her hand trembled just slightly when she touched me.
The look in her eyes when I pulled away was part curious, part terrified, but completely present.
I don't know what happens next.
Maybe we'll take it slow. Perhaps she'll overthink it, and I'll have to remind her that it's okay to feel.
Maybe we'll fall harder than either of us planned.
But I know one thing: I'm not letting this go easily.
She's not just another moment for me. She never has been. She's the kind of woman who leaves fingerprints without touching you.
She walks into your life and somehow rearranges the air around her. I didn't realize how much space she took up in mine until today.
And now?
Now I've had a taste of something I didn't know I was starving for.
And damn, if I don't want more.