Her hand in my hair. My palm pressed to the wall hard enough to hurt.
My fist tightening in her shirt, pulling her closer. Our mouths slipping against each other.
The sounds.
God, the sounds.
Like she’s dying every time I shift, like I’m killing herslowly. A little whimper when I bite her, a soft, pleased exhale when I soothe her lower lip with my tongue. A groan that comes from my throat and she answers.
My blood is thrumming. I’m hard under my pants and thought is rapidly fleeing.
Her hands are skimming over my sides, sending shivers up my spine.
“Tristan, can I—”
“Yes,” I bite out. “Whatever it is, yes.”
She laughs against my mouth and slips her fingers under my shirt. Her fingertips dance lightly over my stomach, then grow greedy. I like that best. She touches me like she’s trying to memorize the shape of me. I want to burn hers behind my eyes.
I can’t be gentle. I feel too needy, too tight. My thumbs turn as greedy as hers—grasping and pressing at the flesh of her hips.
“I like this part,” I say hoarsely. “Am I allowed to say that?”
She laughs again, and the sound spreads light as air down my throat. “Yeah, Tristan.” She scratches her nails gently against my chest. “You can say that. You don’t need to ask permission.”
“Stop laughing at me,” I admonish gently.
What I mean isnever stop laughing at me.
She snorts like she knows I don’t want that. I pull her bottom lip into my mouth. My hands on her hips turn into my hands skimming her waist, finding the sleek curve under her clothes. Her skin trembles. She makes a noise in her throat. A sound that says this is both painful and necessary to life all at once.
I know exactly how she feels.
Her hands rove, grasping, pressing, pulling shivers to thesurface. It feels like the first time I’ve ever done this. It feels like sunshine is dissolving into my blood.
“Tristan,” she pants, half begging, half pained, like she’s surprised how much she enjoys this and doesn’t want me to stop. She arches and follows my mouth with hers as if she wants to meld us together.
“Don’t worry,” I murmur. “I won’t stop unless you tell me to.” I slip two fingers under the thin band of her bra. Her skin is so soft. Especially here—under the pad of my thumb that is surely too rough. Or maybe—based on the way she gasps—just rough enough. I skim the underside of her breast, watching her face. Watching as she watches me, teeth in her lip, eyes hazy.
This moment feels like magic. Like I’ve only just discovered something I was always meant to have.
“Tristan,” a voice calls.
I’m certain it’s not real. Only Katie and this wall and the moon above are real. Her silky skin, her soft noises of desire, and best of all the way she can’t stop herself from taking and taking with me.
All I want with her is to give.
I kiss her again, wild and open-mouthed. She groans into my mouth.
“Tristan.” That voice again. Closer than before.
I don’t want this to stop. I want to keep going. I want to take this as far as she’ll let me, as much as she’ll have me.
This is the best kiss of my life. Maybe the best kiss I’ll ever have.
The thought stops me short. I pause. We share panting breaths.
What the fuck am I doing?
