The engine had long since gone quiet, the ticking of cooling metal the only sound beneath the hush of the woods. Night wrapped around the car like a secret, shadows stretching between the trees while moonlight filtered in through the windshield in pale streaks. The air inside felt warmer than it should’ve been—close, charged, like the space itself knew better than to interrupt.

Derek was leaning over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other settled—firm but careful—at your waist. His lips moved against yours with a slow intensity, not rushed, not careless… just enough to make your head spin if you let it. And you almost did.

Almost.

You pulled back suddenly, your breath catching as you put just enough space between you to think. His lips barely brushed yours as you moved, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, voice low but edged with something sharper.

Derek blinked, caught off guard. His brows pulled together, confusion flickering across his face like he’d missed a step in a conversation he didn’t realize had changed. “What do you mean?”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes dropping pointedly to where his hand rested on your waist before lifting back to his face. “I mean your hands.”

That only seemed to confuse him more. His grip didn’t tighten, didn’t pull away either—he just looked at you like you’d asked him to explain gravity. “They’re on your waist.”

“I know,” you said, your tone flattening just enough to make the words land. Then, after a beat, your expression shifted—something teasing, a challenge sparking in your eyes. “What am I? A nun? Put them somewhere more useful.”

For a second, Derek just stared at you.

And then it clicked.

A slow, almost dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the confusion melting away into something far more familiar—something confident. His hand shifted slightly on your waist, fingers flexing like he was testing the line you’d just drawn… or maybe how far he could cross it.

“More useful,” he repeated quietly, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

You didn’t back down. If anything, you leaned in just a fraction, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath again. “Unless you don’t know how.”

That did it.

His eyes darkened just a shade, something competitive flashing through them. In one smooth motion, his hand slid from your waist—slow, deliberate—like he wanted you to feel every inch of the movement. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t fumble.

He just… adjusted.

“Better?” he murmured, his voice right against your lips now.

Your breath hitched—just slightly—but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction that easily. Still, you didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch between you, thick and heavy.

Your fingers curled lightly into his shirt, pulling him just a little closer.

“Much,” you admitted.

That was all the permission he needed.

Derek closed the distance again, this time with a quiet confidence, like he’d learned exactly what you meant—and intended to prove it.