Chapter 108: Kiss Him… Kiss Him Now…

The lobby of Deniz’s apartment building is a pocket of warm, humid air that smells of wet wool and melted snow. Our entrance is a quiet one, marked by the soft, damp sounds of our footsteps.

My clothes are wet—my knees especially, soaked through from kneeling in the garden—but I don’t feel the cold. Maybe it can’t reach me.

Not when our hands are locked together, fingers laced so tightly they might fuse.

This time, it’s different. Deniz isn’t just holding my hand; he’s holding on.

The pressure is sure, possessive in the gentlest way. A helpless, giddy smile keeps breaking across my face, and my cheeks won’t stop burning.

It’s lovely.

We stop in front of the bank of elevators, joining a small crowd of late-evening residents.

Deniz glances at me, his dark eyes soft with a concern that’s become his second nature.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low.

I look up at him, immediately flustered by the direct attention. I nod quickly.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

My gaze drops to the wet patches on our linked hands.

He reaches out with his free hand, his fingers brushing my cheek.

“Your temperature feels like it’s rising again.”

I look up, meeting his eyes, and my smile turns soft, genuine.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I whisper, leaning into his touch just a fraction.

“Because I’m with you.”

He doesn’t reply with words. A shy, answering smile touches his lips before he looks away, his own ears tinged with pink.

I look away, too, biting my lip.

God, why am I like this?

We’ve kissed more than twice. We’re dating now, for heaven’s sake.

So why does every single glance, every accidental brush, make my heart try to hammer its way out of my chest?

Neon, you’re acting like a flustered omega in a romance novel.

You’re an Alpha.

Be brave.

Don’t be a… a blushing maiden.

I give Deniz’s hand a small, reassuring squeeze, as much for myself as for him. He glances at me, a question in his eyes.

Before I can speak, the elevator dings, its doors sliding open with a hushed sigh. The small crowd begins to shuffle forward.

Deniz tugs me gently, leading me inside. We find a spot near the back, surrounded by the quiet murmur of strangers and the faint smell of wet coats.

We stand in a silence that’s no longer awkward, but charged.

Sweet.

My shoulder is pressed to his arm.

A young man steps in last, squeezing into the space beside me. He’s tall, dressed in a sharp jacket that smells faintly of cheap cologne.

As the doors close and the elevator lurches upward, he sways with the motion, his shoulder deliberately bumping into mine.

“Oops, sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. A smirk plays on his lips as he looks at me from the corner of his eye.

“It’s crowded.”

I stare straight ahead, my jaw tightening. Cheap. I know he did it on purpose. But I’m floating on a cloud of jasmine and confession.

I’m in too good a mood to let a nobody prick my bubble. I don’t look at him. I don’t engage.

Deniz, however, has gone very still beside me.

The elevator stops on another floor. More people shift. The man “staggers” again, his arm pressing against mine.

“I’m sorr—”

He doesn’t finish.

In one fluid, decisive motion, Deniz’s hand slips from mine. It slides around my waist, his grip firm and unmistakable.

He pulls me, not gently, into the solid wall of his side, pressing me so close I stumble slightly against his chest.

My eyes fly wide, looking up at him in shock.

“Are you okay?” Deniz asks me, his voice calm, but his eyes are not on me. They are fixed on the man beside us.

I can only nod slowly, my mind reeling.

Deniz’s gaze is a laser. It holds the man in a silent, dangerous stare I have never seen on him before. It’s not just possessive.

It’s cold. Territorial.

A silent, primal warning that vibrates in the suddenly tense air of the elevator.

His arm around my waist tightens further, his fingers pressing into my hip through the damp fabric.

The message is crystalline: Mine. Back off.

The man’s smirk vanishes. He pales, looks swiftly away, and finds sudden, intense interest in the floor numbers lighting up above the door.

But my eyes are only for Deniz.

Watching this side of him—this protective, quietly fierce possessiveness—unfolds something new and molten in my chest.

I fall for him all over again, harder, deeper.

His gaze finally shifts from the cowed stranger back to me.

The cold intensity melts, replaced by a warm, searching look.

“Okay?” he asks again, just for me.

My cheeks are on fire. I nod, unable to speak.

I really want to kiss him.

Right now. Badly.

Should I do it?

Or should I wait until we’re inside the apartment, alone?

The elevator dings, arriving at Deniz’s floor. The doors open.

Deniz moves with a calm certainty, turning the key in the lock. The door swings open to familiar warmth and shadow.

I follow him inside, the world outside ceases to exist the moment the door clicks shut

My mind is a single, repeating thought, a drumbeat in my blood: Kiss him. Kiss him now.

I look up, drawing a breath to speak his name, to bridge the last inch of space between thought and action.

“Deniz—”

I don’t finish.

He moves with calm certainty, closing the space between us. In one fluid motion, his hands find my waist, guiding me gently back until my shoulders meet the solid wood of the door.

A soft thud echoes in the silent apartment, marking the moment.

My eyes fly wide, not with fear, but with the shock of his sudden, quiet force.

And then he kisses me.

It’s not hungry. It’s not rushed. It’s a slow, deliberate sealing of the promise made in the snow.

His lips press against mine, firm and warm. A claiming that is both question and answer. A silent I know what you wanted.

My heart stutters, then gallops.

Why?

My mind scrambles—why this change?

This quiet, confident dominion?

But the thought dissolves like sugar in hot tea, useless and sweet.

I don’t need to understand.

Not now.

A sound—half sigh, half sob—escapes me, swallowed by his mouth.

Slowly, as if moving through honey, I raise my arms. My hands come to rest on his shoulders, gripping the solid muscle beneath his shirt.

I kiss him back, parting my lips, inviting him deeper.

The kiss transforms, deepens, from a statement into a conversation. A slow, exploring, breathtaking dialogue.

The cold from our clothes is gone.

There is only this: the taste of him, winter and warmth, the press of his body, the firm hold of his hands, and the slow, sweet fire building low in my stomach.

My mind goes quiet. My eyes are closed, but behind my lids, there is only a bright, smiling light.

This.

This is what I wanted.

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