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The thought is fingers snapping in my consciousness. Fifty minutes. How many are left? My lips feel full, bruised, tender and slick. I can’t remember ever kissing this much. Surely I must have, with Nate, in the early months we were dating? But when I think that far back, I mostly remember arguments. We would kiss, and then he would want more and I’d stop him, and he would get distant, huffy, pained.
You don’t know what it’s like, Caroline.
West is carrying his weight on one elbow, his legs and hips off to the side. I don’t know if he’s hard. I haven’t cared, haven’t thought. I’ve been too busy kissing, and I don’t know what it’s like.
Cocktease, the Internet Asshats say, but this time they’re right. I just forgot. I forgot about him.
I break the kiss so I can crane my head around and look at the time on the phone. Ten minutes left. We’ve been kissing for thirty-five, forty minutes, and I haven’t thought. But ten minutes should be long enough, if we need to do something different. Finish West off.
The thought is spiky, uncomfortable.
I ask him, “Are you … ?”
“Mmm. ”
He’s mouthing my neck. Paying zero attention to my attempt to question him.
I curl my fingers around the thick leather of his belt. Bring them to the buckle, heavy and threatening.
I pull the leather from the loop.
West’s hand covers mine. “What are you doing?”
“If you’re … you have class, so …”
West rolls away and sits up. He has to duck his head because of the bunked beds. “I have class?”
“I don’t want you to …” I can’t say it. “Forget it. ”
He grabs my chin and turns my head and makes me look at him. He won’t let me look away. It’s freaking annoying, and I hate it.
“Trust me,” he says. “I need this to be—need us to do this right. With you talking to me, telling me what you like, nobody trying to just guess or do stuff they don’t necessarily want to. I need it. ”
I can’t say no to that. To anything he needs. As much as I hate to, I have to tell him.
“I thought you were maybe uncomfortable. From so much … from kissing me, maybe that was making you … hard, and if we only had a few minutes left before class, I’d better … finish it. ”
He sits there, watching me with his eyebrows drawn in. I can’t tell what he’s thinking—if he’s angry or frustrated, confused, or maybe wishing he were somewhere else
. With some girl who isn’t such a mixed-up freak.
Then he leans toward me, catches me by the waist, and pulls me into his lap.
He kisses my hair, right by my ear. “He really did a number on you, huh?”
I think about saying, Who? or No, but I’m trembling, and my mouth tastes like battery acid, so, yeah.
Yeah. I guess he did.
“I have to go in a minute,” West says quietly. “I don’t want to. But I have to. ”
“I know. ”
“I like kissing you, Caro. ” He puts his lips to my neck. His arm is wrapped around my back, his hand heavy at my hip. The weight of it—perfect. “You like kissing me?”
“Yes. ”
“Good. ”
