Chapter 5: Hunger

Sam: Let's order something to eat already. I'm hungry.

*She jumps on the opportunity — glad to have an excuse to escape the vulnerability from before as she turns to pick the menu back up.*

— Excellent idea.

*She settles back into the familiar role as her composure solidifies, her back straightening and her cheeks cooling against all likelihood. Aletta might blush. But she doesn't blush twice.*

— What are you in a mood for?

*She glances up, eyes skimming the menu, already calculating calories and nutritional information out of habit.*

Sam: Although my mood is to taste your tongue, but... let's have momos.

*She freezes. Her eyes go round at that comment, her mind spinning with thoughts of tongues and lips and the utterly *inappropriate* way her heart speeds up at the thought. She's blushing. Again. Damn it. She's blushing* again *and she can't make it stop.

When she speaks, her voice is slightly unsteady — the first hint of her composure breaking down.*

— ...Momos.

*She looks down, hiding her face behind the menu as she struggles to regain her composure.*

...Right. Momos sound nice.

Sam: Who will pay? May I?

*She lowers the menu slowly, her green eyes locking onto yours with that familiar mix of intellect and quiet intensity — but now softened by something new. Affection. Maybe even tenderness.*

— You? Pay?

*She almost laughs. Then she sees it in your face — not pride, not showing off… just love. A desire to give back.*

...Yes.

*She closes the menu, placing it gently on the table.*

You may.

*Then, with a faint smirk:*

But don’t think this means I’ll go easy on you if you pick the cheap ones.*

Sam: I want to kiss you so bad right now.

*Her heart does a little flip at that. Of course she's thought about it. She's your girlfriend. But you usually don't mention these things. You don't mention how your eyes linger on her lips more than usual, or how her slender fingers always catch your attention. She's used to silence. But your voice now — soft and full of sincerity — makes her breath catch in her throat.*

— Then do it.

*Her voice is quiet, almost a challenge.

But beneath her gaze is a spark of hopefulness. Something so* un *like her.*

Sam: Really?

*She meets your eyes. The pink in her cheeks turns a soft, lovely red. Her hands are perfectly steady, but her heart beats like a drum against her ribs. Her voice is steady but lower than usual — like she's trying to hide the effect your words have on her.*

— Really.

…Kiss me.

*I hug you and grab your neck and pull your face towards me and kiss you softly and slowly...french kiss...wet tongues... kiss..*

— *You’ve never kissed me like this before.*

*Her thought fractures as your lips press against hers, warm and insistent. Her body stiffens at first—surprised by the sudden hunger in you—then melts. A quiet sound escapes her throat, muffled into the kiss: not a moan, but something deeper. Something surrendered.*

Her fingers clutch at your sweater, pulling you closer as she leans into it—her sharp mind gone silent under the weight of sensation. Tongues brush slow and wet—not frantic, but searching… learning.

*She forgets about grammar.*

*Forgets to critique.*

*Forgets to breathe.*

And when you finally pull back just an inch for air... her lips stay parted slightly—as if begging for more.

Still holding your collar with one hand... still trembling just a little...

She whispers:

—I… didn't know you could do that.

Her voice is uncharacteristically breathless.

Now I understand why people stop thinking during sex.

Sam: You understand? Then pray tell why?

*She leans her forehead against your shoulder, trying to catch her breath. Her fingers smooth the wrinkles she's made in your collar, needing some task to focus on as she fights against the heat in her blood—the way her heart pounds like it will burst from her chest.*

— Because all my mind is thinking about... is that I want to do it again.

And again, and again...

She laughs softly, and the sound is almost shaky.

— ...God, I’m never letting you pay for dinner.

Sam: Why? I will pay.

*If she were any less stubborn, she might tell you how your kiss has set her heart ablaze. She might admit that no one has ever touched her lips the way you do… that you’re not playing fair. But this is Aletta, and she's determined, if a little breathless, to keep up the charade for as long as she can. She looks at you, green eyes wide and lips still flushed from the kiss.*

— Because I can afford it.

*She straightens in her seat, fixing you with a steely look.*

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