Ididn’t think he’d kiss like this. I expected cocky and overconfident, not gentle. A claiming, not a hesitant graze of his lips over mine that lights a flame inside my stomach. He looses a soft breath, then slides his nose up the side of mine.
“Is that it?” I whisper.
He chuckles. “No, Bailey. That’s not it.”
He tests my mouth again, seeking something with the tilt of his head and the light fingers he presses to my jaw, and I try to answer, curling a hand into his shirt and angling my own head under his. We find it all at once, like treasure in the desert.
Our lips fit together, our breaths sync. He makes the barest sound in his throat. My lids flutter shut, and for once in my entire life, I justam.
Long heartbeats pass as we take our time. His lips cling to mine, gentle, then deep. I finally test the divot in his bottom lip with my tongue. He gasps a breath. His fingers on my jaw urge me closer, make me restless, make heat spread through my limbs as my body arches toward his.
“Is this okay?” he asks against my lips.
My heart flutters. “Yes.”
“Do you want—”
“Please.” My voice wavers.
I’ve never felt like this before. Never in my entire life. Like champagne has been uncorked inside me. Like I’m swan diving, suspended in that perfect second before I slice into the water, my stomach pressed to my spine.
“Okay,” he murmurs before his tongue parts my lips, insistent, sliding along my own, then sucking. I gasp into his mouth and fist his t-shirt.
This doesn’t feel like kissing my best friend. This feels like the best kiss I’ll ever have.
Of course. It’s Tristan. I know his body nearly as well as I know my own, or I thought I did. But I didn’t realize his stomach was so firm under his clothes. I didn’t realize that his skin would be so hot or his stubble so delightfully abrasive against my chin or his fingers so warm and confident against my jaw. Or that I would like the way he angles me upward and the way he tastes, like whiskey, but also a flavor that is undeniablyhim.I like the soft sounds of approval he makes and the way his stomach pushes against my hand and the thud of his heart in the wall of his chest.
He breaks the kiss to whisper, “Confident girls ask for what they want.”
“Yes, Professor.”
He laughs softly against the edge of my mouth. “Dirty talk so quickly, Bailey? Gold star for you.” His voice is a breathless rasp, quickly chased by the press of his lips to mine, then a husky “Ask me with your body.”
I think back to the bad hookups I’ve had in the past. I never asked for anything. I was always too afraid to be bold, too afraid to be too much, too needy.
But this is just practice, and Tristan is my best friend, and he won’t run. Not when I need him.
I nip at his bottom lip and he answers with a groan and a tightening of his hand on my waist.
Heat shimmers in my stomach.
“Again,” he rasps.
I like a little pain.
God, I’ve never done this before. Never felt light as air and heavy like honey. Never kissed just because I want to make my partner feel good and felt like I actually succeeded.
I bite him again, harder, and he pins me to the wall with a rough sound. His hands mold my waist, then my hips, gripping my skin, sliding my shorts up my thighs. I lick his bottom lip, soothing, then slide my tongue against his teeth, testing the fit of our mouths, the texture of his breaths, all for the sheer joy of kissing Tristan.
He sucks on my tongue.
I gasp, arching.
He breaks the kiss and lets his forehead drop to mine. I think I can hear my heartbeat.
I want to chase his lips and drag him back down. My limbs tremble with want. Insatiable. I felt it.Thisis what I’m meant to feel when I kiss someone. “Is it always that good?” I whisper.
His chuckle is a mere puff of air against my mouth. “Sometimes,” he says lightly.
