Natsumi stiffened, ready to pull free, when he tugged her down onto him. But he didn't roll to pin her, or paw at the sleep-loosened collar of her yukata, or try--anything at all. One hand spread over her shoulderblade, while the other wound in her hair, silky strands slipping through his fingers. The kiss eased; he opened his eyes again, watching her steadily.

I don't, Natsumi tried to say, only it never came out and there was nothing to follow it. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't do this normally. I don't even know your family name. I don't think this means nothing.

None of it was good enough, not with the smile in his eyes crinkling up at her, not with his broad chest sun-warmed beneath her, his heart beating in slow and steady harmony to hers. And if, as she was beginning to fear, it did mean something--anything!--wasn't that a reason to go on?

"Just," she whispered against his mouth, "just a kiss."

Because I'm not sure I'll want to stop you if you do any more.