Third-Person Limited - Kendra, then Dominic, then Kendra
By Monday morning, Kendra had decided that kissing Dominic was a mistake.
A good mistake.
A great mistake.
But still a mistake.
Her brain had been useless all weekend.
Every time she tried to focus on homework, all she could think about was:
His mouth.His hand on her waist.The way his eyes had looked afterward—soft and wrecked and weirdly hopeful.
Totally unacceptable.
She was not that girl.
She refused.
So, when she saw him at the front gate Monday morning, she did the only reasonable thing.
She pretended nothing had happened.
"Morning," he said.
"No," she replied.
He blinked. "No… what?"
"No morning," she said. "Morning denied. The day doesn't start until I say so."
"You sound like you lost the argument with your alarm," he said.
"I did," she muttered.
The girls filtered ahead, bickering over music and tests, leaving the two of them a few steps behind.
It was barely a sliver of privacy—but enough that the air felt different.
He shifted her bag higher on his shoulder, then glanced sideways at her.
Her heart did a stupid skip.
Absolutely not, she told it.
"We're late," she said quickly. "Walk faster."
He smirked. "Running away?"
"Cardio," she corrected.
They walked.
They didn't touch.
They didn't talk about the kiss.
They didn't even look at each other for longer than two seconds.
It should have helped.
It didn't.
By the time the first period ended, Kendra had replayed that kitchen moment so many times in her head that she'd almost convinced herself she'd imagined it.
Almost.
Until it happened again.
Joint Service – File Room
Joint Service that afternoon was supposed to be simple.
"Nothing intense today," Miss Hall promised, dropping a stack of folders on the desk. "Just organizing these into the back file room by grade. Even the two of you can't cause chaos with labels and shelves."
"You underestimate me," Kendra said.
Miss Hall laughed and tossed her the key. "You're in charge, Atchinson. Try not to lose the school records. I'll be in the counselor's office for a bit if you need me."
She disappeared down the hall.
Kendra and Dominic stared at the open door to the file room.
Rows of shelves.
No cameras.
No windows to the hallway.
Enclosed.
Quiet.
Private.
Oh no, she thought.
"Let's get this over with," she muttered.
They carried the folders in—well, he carried them; she supervised—and started sorting.
"Freshmen, top shelf, left," she said.
"Got it," he replied, sliding them into place.
They worked in silence for a few minutes.
The room smelled like paper and cleaning spray and a faint trace of his cologne.
She tried to ignore that last part.
Tried and failed.
He brushed past her once in the narrow aisle, careful not to bump her casts.
Her heart jumped anyway.
Stupid.
She handed him another stack with her forearm. "Sophomores," she said, trying to pretend her pulse wasn't doing gymnastics.
He took them.
Their fingers brushed.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Her whole body lit up like someone had plugged her into a faulty outlet.
She snatched her hand back a little too quickly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
"Kendra," he said quietly.
"Don't," she warned.
He set the folders down.
Didn't move closer.
Didn't touch her.
Just looked at her.
The room suddenly felt small.
"About the other day," he said.
"Nope," she cut in. "We're not doing this. We agreed: later."
"It is later," he pointed out.
"Later, as in 'not when I'm trapped in a closet with you and no one is around," she said. "I meant, like—future later. Months later. Years. After we're dead."
He huffed out a breath.
"Right," he said. "Because that sounds healthy."
She scowled at him.
He took a careful step forward.
"You kissed me," he reminded her.
"Once," she said.
"Twice," he corrected softly. "And I'm very… aware of that."
Her face warmed.
"Well, congratulations," she said. "You have a good memory."
He smiled then—slow and sharp and soft all at once.
"It's not my memory I'm worried about," he said. "It's my self-control."
Her pulse stumbled.
"Get a grip," she muttered.
He moved closer again.
Not enough to touch her.
Just enough that she could feel the heat off him.
"Trying," he said honestly. "It's harder when we're alone."
"Then don't be alone with me," she said, hating how breathy it sounded.
"That's not really an option," he replied. "Unless you want to start carrying your own stuff with your teeth."
Her eyes flicked to his mouth.
Big mistake.
He saw it.
Something in his expression shifted— sharpening.
"Don't," she said again, weaker this time.
"You started it," he murmured.
"That was an accident," she lied.
He stepped into her space.
Slow enough that she could shove him away or step back if she wanted to.
She didn't.
Instead, her back bumped lightly against the metal filing cabinet behind her.
He braced one hand on the cabinet beside her head—not touching her, just there, steady.
"Last chance to tell me to move," he said quietly.
It hit her then:
He might want this.
He might think about it.
He might be barely holding himself together sometimes.
But he was still giving her the choice.
Every time.
She swallowed hard.
"Don't break my nose," she muttered.
His mouth twitched.
"Yes or no, Kendra," he said.
Her breath shuddered out.
"Yes," she whispered.
His eyes softened like something in him unclenched.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
It was different from the kitchen.
Less startled.
Less clumsy.
More… everything.
His mouth was gentle but sure, moving against hers like he'd been thinking about this as much as she had.
Her hands hung uselessly by her sides inside their plaster prisons.
She wanted to bury her fingers in his hair, pull him closer, and do something.
He seemed to realize that.
His free hand slid very lightly to her hip—barely any pressure, just a touch, a point of contact.
Her knees almost forgot their job.
Heat curled low in her stomach.
She kissed him back like she'd been waiting for the signal to start.
The file room and the folders and the rest of the world blurred at the edges.
It was just this:
His mouth.
His breath.
His ridiculous carefulness, like she was something precious and fragile instead of a girl who'd once thrown a classmate across a lunch table.
He broke away first.
Barely.
Just enough to rest his forehead against hers.
They were both breathing too fast.
"So," he said softly. "We're… doing this now?"
Her brain didn't work for a solid three seconds.
"Define 'this,'" she managed.
"This," he said, and brushed his nose against hers, sending another stupid shiver down her spine.
"Illegal," she muttered.
"Not yet," he said. "We haven't been caught."
Her eyes flew open. "Don't jinx it!"
As if summoned, Miss Hall's voice floated down the hall.
"Everything still standing in there?"
They jolted apart like they'd been tasered.
"All good!" Kendra called, a little too loudly. "Very… organized."
Dominic coughed into his fist and grabbed the nearest stack of folders, face carefully blank.
Miss Hall poked her head in a second later, eyes flicking between them.
Both were flushed.
Kendra was sure she looked guilty as hell.
"Any paper cuts?" Miss Hall asked casually.
"Nope," Kendra said.
"Good," she said. "I'm too old to do crisis paperwork. Five more minutes, then you can go."
She disappeared again.
Kendra exhaled slowly.
Dominic glanced over, his lips slightly swollen, eyes warm.
She scowled at him.
"This is your fault," she hissed.
"Pretty sure you said yes," he murmured.
"I'm revoking it," she said.
He smiled.
She didn't mean it.
They both knew.
Dominic – New Addiction
By the end of the week, Dominic had learned something dangerous about himself:
He had zero willpower where Kendra was concerned.
Zero.
He'd always prided himself on control.
Control in his fights.
Control over the school.
Control over his wolf.
He didn't lose his temper easily. He didn't slip up. He didn't crack.
Then Kendra had kissed him in a kitchen, and suddenly, every empty classroom, every quiet hallway, every closed door looked like an opportunity his wolf wouldn't shut up about.
Mate, it whispered every time she walked past. Touch. Closer.
He had to train himself to ignore it.
Mostly.
He followed the rules.
His rules.
He only kissed her when:
They were alone. She wasn't mad at him. She gave some sign—however small—that she wanted it too.
Sometimes that sign was obvious: her whispering yes in a file room.
Sometimes it was subtler: her eyes drifting to his mouth, her shoulders relaxing when they were finally away from everyone, her body tilting just slightly toward his without her realizing.
He paid attention.
He had to.
Because kissing her was quickly becoming his favorite thing in the world.
And his most dangerous.
The second time that week was at her house.
The girls had gone on a snack run, leaving the two of them in the living room with textbooks spread out.
"Explain this to me," Kendra said, nodding at a math problem. "Like I'm five. Or an alien. Or a very stupid table."
"It's not that bad," he said.
"Triangle man wants me to find his angle, and I don't care," she replied.
He scooted closer on the couch, not quite touching. "Alright," he said. "Look. This side, this side, this angle. You use sine to—"
She stared at him.
"Did you hear anything I just said?" he asked.
"No," she confessed. "Your voice got all teacher-y, and my brain clocked out."
He sighed.
"Try," he said.
"I am trying," she protested. "You're just very… loud for being quiet."
He blinked. "What?"
She gestured vaguely at him with her cast. "Your face. It's distracting. It has… vibes."
"You're blaming your math grade on my face?" he asked, incredulous.
"Yes," she said.
He stared at her.
Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth lifted.
"So, what I'm hearing is," he said, "we're not getting any more studying done until I kiss you."
Her entire nervous system misfired.
"I did not say that," she said.
"You implied it," he murmured.
Silence stretched.
He shifted, brushing her leg.
Her breath hitched.
"Don't you dare," she whispered.
He held her gaze.
"You can tell me to stop," he reminded her.
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
He leaned in.
Her heart lurched.
He paused a hair's breadth away—close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips.
"Kendra," he said quietly.
"Just do it before I change my mind," she muttered.
He did.
This kiss was slower.
Less startled, more lingering.
His hand came up, hovering near her jaw, not quite touching, like he didn't trust himself to if he started.
Her cast rested uselessly between them, pinning her chest, but somehow it made everything feel more intense.
Less to do with hands.
More to do with everything else.
When he finally pulled back, she was flushed and slightly dazed.
"Still think it's my face's fault?" he asked, voice rough.
"Yes," she said. "And now it's also your mouth's fault."
He laughed under his breath.
Her stomach did a weird flip.
She hated it.
She loved it.
She was going to combust.
Kendra – New Problem
By Friday, Kendra had three new problems:
Dominic kissed her whenever they were alone. She let him. She'd started wanting it. A lot.
Joint Service?
If Miss Hall left them unattended for more than thirty seconds, she found herself glancing at the door, calculating how fast they could get away with it.
House?
If the girls all drifted out of the room, her heartbeat sped up in anticipation before he even moved.
Once, they were in the foyer, waiting for Sofia to grab her jacket.
Sofia yelled something about "five more minutes," and as soon as her footsteps faded down the hall, Kendra felt Dominic's gaze on her.
She glared at him.
"Don't even think about it," she said.
"I already am," he replied.
"You're ridiculous," she muttered.
"You can walk away," he pointed out, backing her gently toward the wall with nothing but his presence.
"Can't," she said. "Shoes untied."
"I'll help you," he offered.
"That's cheating," she accused.
He smiled.
"Three seconds," he said. "Just three."
"That's not how time works," she said.
He kissed her anyway.
Quick.
Soft.
Barely enough to count as anything.
Her toes curled in her socks.
When he pulled back, she was breathing harder than three seconds warranted.
"You're a menace," she told him.
"You're the one who keeps letting me," he shot back.
She wanted to argue.
She didn't.
Because the truth was, she did keep letting him.
Worse:
Sometimes she started it.
Like the afternoon in the kitchen when he reached over her for a glass, and she tilted her face up just a little too quickly.
Their mouths brushed.
Accident.
Totally.
Except then she leaned in again.
On purpose.
Later that night, lying in bed with her cast propped up, she stared at the ceiling and made a list in her head.
Reasons why this was bad:
He was him. She was her. She still hadn't forgiven him entirely. She still didn't trust herself entirely. People like him didn't stay.
Reasons this was… not the worst thing that had ever happened to her:
He listened when she said no. He asked before he pushed. He made room for her anger. He still carried her bag even when they were fighting. He kept showing up.
She groaned into her pillow.
"This is so stupid," she told the dark. "I hate this. I hate him. I hate his face. I hate—"
A small, traitorous voice in the back of her head whispered:
You don't.
She rolled over and ignored it.
Almost Caught
The universe, predictably, decided they were having too much fun.
It happened on a rainy afternoon.
The halls were almost empty—most kids had bolted as soon as the last bell rang. Kendra and Dominic were lingering by her locker, waiting for Sofia to bring the car around because the weather was doing dramatic things outside.
"I feel like we're in one of those teen dramas," Kendra said, listening to the thunder. "Next thing you know, lightning's going to strike, and we'll all suddenly have powers."
"You already have powers," he said. "You weaponize your words."
"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied.
"It was one," he said.
She shut her locker with her elbow and leaned back against it.
The hallway was quiet.
Too quiet.
He stepped closer.
"We're alone," he observed.
"That sounds like a horror movie line," she said. "Next you're going to say—"
"We're alone… for now," he added dramatically.
She snorted.
"Stop," she said. "You're ruining my life."
He braced a hand on the locker near her head.
"Just your day," he corrected. "Your life was already ruined when you met me."
"True," she said.
He dipped his head.
Her breath hitched.
"Dom," she warned.
"Yeah?" he murmured.
"Someone could come," she said.
He glanced down the empty hall.
"They're not here yet," he said. "And I haven't kissed you since yesterday. I'm going into withdrawal."
"You're so dramatic," she muttered.
He smiled.
"Three seconds?" he asked.
"That's not—" she started.
He cut her off with his mouth.
Heat flared, familiar and new every time.
Her head bumped lightly against the locker; his hand shifted to cradle the side of her neck—not squeezing, just steady.
She made a small sound in the back of her throat that she hoped he hadn't heard.
He definitely heard.
His mouth curved against hers.
Then:
"Oh my gosh!"
They broke apart like magnets shoved the wrong way.
Maya stood at the end of the row, holding a dripping umbrella, eyes huge and delighted.
"Oh," she said, grin widening. "Ohhhh. So, this is happening."
Kendra wanted to ascend directly into the ceiling.
"Nothing is happening," she said too fast. "You saw nothing."
"Yeah, no," Maya said, walking toward them. "I definitely saw something. And I'm so happy I was right."
"Right about what?" Dominic asked carefully.
"That you two were secretly a thing," she said. "Half the school's been guessing. I just had the best evidence."
"Half the school?" Kendra croaked.
Maya shrugged. "You think people don't notice when the principal's son turns into a personal bodyguard for the new girl and then starts looking at her like she's the last snack on earth?"
Kendra opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"No one is anyone's snack," she spluttered.
Dominic looked like he wanted to slam his head into the locker.
"Maya," he said, voice low. "This doesn't leave this hallway."
She blinked.
"And why would I do that?" she asked.
"Because if @GarrisonTea finds out before we're ready, she's going to have a panic attack," he said, nodding at Kendra.
Maya considered that.
Then nodded. "Valid," she said. "Okay. Lips sealed. For now."
"Thank you," Kendra said, trying not to sound like she was begging.
Maya smiled conspiratorially.
"Just so you know," she said, backing away, "every time I see you now, I'm going to be mentally screaming."
"Please don't," Kendra begged.
"Too late," Maya said cheerfully. "Carry on with your… extracurriculars."
She disappeared around the corner.
Silence.
Rain pounded against the windows.
Kendra stared at Dominic.
"You have got to stop kissing me in public," she hissed.
"You kissed me back," he whispered.
"That's not the point," she said.
He sighed.
"Okay," he said. "New rule. No more locker area kisses. Too risky."
"And classrooms," she added. "And hallways. And stairwells. And—"
"Bathrooms are already off the table," he said.
"Obviously," she snapped.
He held up his hands.
"House only, then," he said. "And maybe the file room. Miss Hall likes us."
"She likes you," she corrected. "She thinks I'm a feral raccoon."
"She thinks you're a hurricane," he said. "She's not wrong."
Sofia honked outside.
They both flinched.
"Come on," Kendra muttered. "If we're late, she'll come in here and drag us out by our ears."
He grabbed her bag and followed.
As they walked, their shoulders brushed.
No one saw.
No one knew.
Except Maya.
And the teacher who'd almost walked into the file room ten seconds too early.
And the boy who had started this year as her enemy somehow became the person she thought about every time a room went quiet.
And the girl who still insisted she hated romance—
Even as she found herself wanting, against every stubborn bone in her slightly broken body—
For him to kiss her again.