He’s kissing me, and I’m letting him.
He’s kissing me, and I’m letting him, and I’m kissing him back.
He’s kissing me, and I’m letting him, and I’m kissing him back, andI like it.
Our lips glide against each other as our tongues tangle together. We’re kissing. I don’t remember the last time I was kissed. Elementary school maybe, when I was young and naïve enough to allow myself to have a crush. When I had hope that whatever town Dad and I were living in would be where we’d stay.
But this is the first time I’ve been kissed by aman. This is the first time I’ve wanted to be kissed and wanted to kiss someone back.
“Oh fuck,” Warrick groans, pushing me off him until I’m on the other side of the couch, my lips wet from his kiss, my skin burning from his touch.
“I…” I start.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he snarls, his voice lower and gruffer than before.
“Why?” I ask before I even consider what I’m saying.
“Why?” he echoes.
“Why shouldn’t you have done that?” Jesus, what is wrong with me? Why did I ask that?
“Because I promised you that I didn’t bring you here to fuck you,” he growls angrily.
“Isthat why you brought me here?”
“No,” he says quickly, his eyes wide but earnest.
“So why kiss me if you don’t want to fuck me?”
“I do want to fuck you,” he growls. “It’s just not the reason I brought you home. I need you to be safe, to be comfortable and fed and cared for.”
“I wanted you to kiss me,” I admit, not sure why I’m telling him, but doing it anyway.
“You did?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says, his eyes hooding slightly as he holds his hand out to me again. “Because my dick is rock-fucking-hard for you right now.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling stupidly inexperienced.
“But I’m not going to fuck you.”
“Why not?” I ask, my voice a little more shrill than I anticipated.
“Because we don’t know each other and I’m not looking for a hook-up, and I don’t want you to think that’s what this is.”
“So what is it then?” I ask, confused.
“This is the beginning of forever, and that doesn’t start with a fuck.”
“Forever,” I whisper as I let him tug me closer to him again. A part of me wants him to pull me on top of him and to carry on with what we started moments ago. But he doesn’t. Instead, he brings our joined hands to his mouth and presses a kiss against my knuckles.
When he doesn’t say anything more, I don’t either, my eyes drifting to the TV and the hockey match. By the time the final whistle blows, I’m pressed close up against him, our hands resting on my thigh, his body heat warming me while the space between my legs pulses with unexpected desire.
After I go to sleep, my dreams are filled with promises of forever and kisses that bring my whole body to life. By the time I wake up, the sun is high, and the dress I wore to sleep in is drenched with sweat.
Blinking through the haze of sleep, I sit upright and stare around the room. Instead of pushing the bed across the door, last night I fell asleep with the door cracked open. I’m not sure if I was inviting Warrick in or just silently telling him that I trusted him not to enter without my permission. Either way, it feels important.
