The first kiss was a challenge, a collision of intent. It was slow, tentative at first, tasting of wild coffee and the sharp, clean acid of the sorrel on her fingers. Lena’s hand moved to the back of his neck, her touch a firm command, instantly destroying the carefully constructed order of his mind.
He let the tongs carrying the wild thyme fall to the ground. His hands found the thick, soft wool of her sweater, pulling her against the hard, unyielding tension of his body. The kiss deepened, moving beyond challenge into a hungry, undeniable need.
It wasn't gentle. It was aggressive, a clash of their opposing philosophies acted out on their lips. Tensu, the man of precision, abandoned control completely. He needed the feeling, the fire, the realness she promised.
Lena was fire. She tasted like the risk he craved, like the hot spice he had stolen for his curry. Her mouth was open, inviting the full, terrifying plunge into the messiness of pure desire. He pushed the kiss deeper, a desperate attempt to find out if the person he hated the most truly was the only one he couldn’t live without.
