Anthony's POV
"And Anthony?" she said, leaning fully into me, her warmth settling into the space between us like she'd always belonged there.
I looked down, and our eyes locked.
"I don't like Deron. I don't like Tyler.
I like you, Anthony.
Your laugh. Your mischievous persona.
The way you smell, the way your hands tangle...
And the way your curls fall."
Her voice was so soft, it nearly got swallowed by the hum of the storm outside.
"I like you," she whispered again, and then she closed her eyes—tight like she was bracing for something to shatter.
I swear to God, my heart stopped.
She liked me. Me. Not who she thought I could be. Not some version of a guy who had it all together.
Me.
I blinked, not because I didn't hear her… but because I needed to hear it again. Needed to carve that moment into my skin.
"Camila," I murmured, voice barely audible. "Say that again."
Her eyes fluttered open, hesitation flickering across her face—but only for a second.
"I like you, Anthony," she said again, breath trembling. "Everything about you."
And that was it. That was all it took.
I cupped her face with both hands, gently but firmly, letting my thumbs rest just below her eyes. She was so close. Close enough for me to feel the catch in her breath, the tension in her shoulders from all the vulnerability she'd just thrown at me.
I didn't rush.
I leaned in like I was answering a prayer. Like this had been building for weeks and I'd finally been granted permission to speak in a language I knew better than words. Just before our lips met I whispered a question I begged really "can I kiss you " a low and simple nod that the storm took away . And that's all I needed
When our lips met, it wasn't some clumsy crash of desperation—it was precise. Intentional. Like I'd been memorizing this moment since the first time I saw her.
Her lips were warm, soft, tasting faintly of the peppermint
My hand slid to the nape of her neck, the other anchoring her waist, pulling her just a little closer, feeling her breath melt into mine.
It wasn't just a kiss.
It was everything I couldn't say out loud. All the watching, the wanting, the self-control. All the times I held back and smiled instead of reaching out.
She kissed me back—slow at first, then deeper. Like she needed to pour everything she'd been holding in too. There was heat, sure—God, there was heat. But just as quickly as it built, I pulled back.
Not because I didn't want her.
But because I wanted all of her—and that meant waiting until she was fully ready.
Her eyes fluttered open, cheeks burning, lips parted in surprise. I leaned my forehead against hers, both of us breathless.
"Camila," I whispered, voice thick with feeling. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."
She smiled softly, fingertips brushing against my jaw.
"Then why stop?" she teased, breath warm against my mouth.
I chuckled, low and quiet, letting my hand fall back to her waist. "Because if I don't… I won't be able to."
Her smile faltered just a little—not from offense, but from understanding. From knowing the respect in my restraint.
And then she kissed my cheek.
I was hers
Just hers
Camila's POV
My heart was doing backflips in my chest, and for a moment, all I could hear was the soft pounding of rain against the windows and the deafening silence after I whispered those words.
"I like you, Anthony."
I had my eyes shut like a coward, praying I hadn't just thrown myself off some emotional cliff.
But then he said it.
"Say that again."
My eyes opened slowly, and he was looking at me—not like I was crazy, not like he was going to laugh, but like I was something precious. Like I was being unwrapped.
"I like you, Anthony. Everything about you."
And then he kissed me.
It started so softly, like he was asking permission even though I'd already given it.
His hands cradled my face so gently, his thumbs brushing just under my eyes like I was something fragile. But when his lips found mine—God—it didn't feel fragile. It felt real.
The second his mouth touched mine, my stomach flipped so violently it felt like I'd just gone over the edge of a rollercoaster. My whole body tensed, and then melted. There was nothing tentative about the way I responded. My hands slid up his chest—solid, warm, and still a little damp from the rain—and then curled into the soft cotton of his shirt like I needed to ground myself.
His kiss was slow but deep, full of emotion and something else I couldn't quite name—something heavier, hungrier, but held back by threadbare restraint. It lit a fire inside me that burned hot and low, spreading from my lips straight down to the base of my spine. I could feel my thighs press together instinctively, a flutter between them that made me suck in a shaky breath against his mouth.
My lips parted without a thought, and his tongue barely grazed mine—just enough to make my toes curl.
The heat of his hand on my waist seared through the fabric of my top, fingers pressing firmly like he needed to memorize the shape of me. And when he pulled me closer, flush against him, the contact made my breath hitch.
I could feel everything.
The way his chest rose and fell.
The tremble in his hand.
The way my body arched toward his without even thinking.
The kiss didn't feel like a first. It felt like something we'd been doing in our dreams for weeks.
And then—he stopped.
He pulled away.
Not far, but enough to make me gasp slightly, needing more. His forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing like we'd run miles. His scent—clean soap and whatever product had been in his curls—wrapped around me like a second skin.
"Camila… You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."
My heart thudded against my ribs like it might actually break through.
And even though part of me wanted to tug him back into the kiss, into whatever storm we were starting between us, I understood why he stopped. And I liked him a little for it.
He wasn't just kissing me because he could.
He was kissing me because he meant it. Because I mattered.
My body still buzzed. Lips tingling. Core warm and aching in a way I wasn't used to. Not in real life. I'd never been kissed like that before. Not by Deron. Not by anyone.
It made me feel wanted. Desired. And still, somehow… safe.
So I kissed his cheek—soft, slow, meaningful—and whispered back the only thing I could think you