“You know I love you, right?” Gabe asks, as if the answer is obvious.
I do. I mean… I think.
My eyes drift open for a second, taking in the familiar clutter of my half of the room. The stack of novels on my desk, spines cracked and pages dog-eared. The string of fairy lights draped over my headboard, casting a warm, golden haze. The poster of the obscure indie band no one’s heard of, but I love. It’s my world, and for the last six months, he’s been a welcome part of it—acentralpart.
I’ve never really fit in anywhere, at least not in the way other people seem to. It’s always felt like there’s some invisible rhythm everyone else hears, but I’m always half a beat off. Growing up, it was books over people, quiet over noise, and observing over belonging. I learned how to fake it well enough to get by, but it never felt natural. So I did what I was good at: I worked. I pushed. I finished high school early, packed my life into boxes, and landed at WestbridgeUniversity just before my seventeenth birthday, thinking college would be different.
It wasn’t.
Freshman year was lonely in a more isolating way, like being surrounded by people but still somehow still invisible. junior year didn’t fix it either. By then, everyone else had already found their place, their people, and I was still hovering on the edges, pretending that didn’t bother me as much as it did.
And then, in junior year, there was Gabe, in advanced statistics, of all places. It wasn’t instant or dramatic. It was quiet and easy. We started with equations and datasets, and somehow it turned into conversations that didn’t feel forced, into laughter that wasn’t rehearsed, into something… real. He didn’t make me feel like I was too much or not enough. Instead, I was enough… exactly as I was. And now I’m here, pressed against him on my twin XL bed, the mattress protesting weakly beneath our combined weight, telling myself this is what it’s supposed to feel like when you finally find someone who accepts you.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my voice a little breathless. “I know.”
I lift my head, and his lips find mine again. It starts slow, like it always does. His mouth is warm and familiar, moving against mine with a practiced rhythm that sends a pleasant, humming current through my veins. My fingers twist into the hair at the nape of his neck, the strands as soft as always. The slight rasp of his evening stubble prickles against my chin.
Gabe sweeps his tongue through my mouth as his hand, which was resting innocently on my hip, slowly slidesupward. He traces the curve of my ribs through the thick cotton of his hoodie I’m wearing. My heart beats a little faster—a frantic, excited drum against my ribs—with every inch his hand moves. It flattens over my breast, and he palms it lightly over the soft material.
The anticipation coursing through me intensifies to a low, pleasant thrum of desire. I let out a soft sigh against his mouth, encouraging him. He takes it without hesitation. His thumb makes small, slow circles over the fabric, right over the peak of my nipple. The sensation sends a jolt straight through me, a spark that ignites a warmth low in my belly.
My hand runs down his neck and his back, his solid muscles flexing beneath his shirt. He responds by deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine in a way that makes my toes curl. After releasing my breast, his hand dusts along my side, slipping under the hem of the hoodie. His fingers are cool against the skin of my stomach.
I break the kiss, my eyes meeting his in the dim light. “Gabe…”
Gabe stares down at me, waiting patiently. Something he has been doing since our first kiss. While being a socially awkward gifted student propelled my studies, it has left meyearsbehind my peers in this department. Gabe was my first kiss. He’s been my first everything.Not that there’s been much.We haven’t done more than what has already happened tonight.
“Kenz,” he whispers, my name his plea for permission to keep going. I answer by grabbing the hem of the hoodie and his T-shirt beneath it and pulling them up. He gets themessage, helping me tug it over my head, leaving me in my bra and leggings. The cool air hits my bare skin, raising goosebumps.
He leans in, his lips tracing a path from my collarbone to the swell of my breast. His hand slips beneath the cup of my bra; the feeling electric. His palm is warm, and his touch confident as he kneads my flesh, his thumb brushing back and forth over my now-hardened nipple. A soft moan escapes me, completely beyond my control, as he rolls the sensitive bud beneath his fingers.
When my touch brushes against the nape of his neck, he shifts his weight enough to pull his own shirt over his head. I reach out as he tosses it to the floor, my fingers tracing the lines of his abs and relishing in the way they tense under my touch. He groans and lowers his head, capturing my other breast in his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue against my skin is exquisite. I arch my back, pressing myself closer, my body completely taking over.
His free hand begins to wander again, a slow, teasing trail down my side, over my hip. I’m lost to the sensation of his mouth, the rhythmic pull of his lips, and the scrape of his teeth. It’s only when his fingers hook into the waistband of my leggings that I’m torn back to my senses. The fire in my belly turns to ice. My entire body goes rigid. The humming current in my veins cuts out, replaced by a blaring, high-pitched alarm in my head.
No. Not that. Not yet.
“Gabe,” I grumble, placing my hand over his. “Not yet.”
He stops and pulls back to look at me, and in the dim glow of the fairy lights, I can see the confusion in his eyes. It’s notanger. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice is still soft, but now it has a thin layer of frustration to it.
“Nothing. I just… I’m not ready for…that.” My answer is barely audible. I hate how small and weak I sound.
His gaze drops to where my hand covers his. “We don’t have to do… everything. I just want to touch you.” His words are meant to be reassuring, but they aren’t.
I gently pull his hand away from the waist of my leggings, moving it back to my breast. A clear, physical boundary. “Okay?” I ask, my eyes pleading with him to understand. To be the patient guy I fell for.
He nods, a short, sharp jerk of his head. “Okay.”
After placing a soft kiss against my lips, he buries his face between my breasts. He lavishes them both with attention. I sink into it, comfortable with the familiar and safe territory. But my reprieve is short-lived, and I am unable to ignore the lingering unease coiled in my stomach when his fingers dip beneath my elastic waistband again.
My hand flies down and clamps over his wrist, my grip surprisingly tight. “Stop,” I huff, sharply.
His hand freezes as he lifts his head. When I open my eyes, his lips are slightly swollen, and his eyes are clouded with desire. “Kenzi?” he breathes. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, unable to form words. My throat is tight, and my chest is aching with a sudden, frantic panic. After shoving his hand away, I scramble across the tiny bed, putting as much space between us as possible. My back hits the cold wall with a soft thud. I pull my knees up to mychest, wrapping my arms around them, trying to cover myself, to hide from his gaze.
He stays where he is for a moment, his chest bare as he kneels on the bed. The confusion on his face slowly melts away, replaced by the cold hardness of frustration. “Jesus, Kenzi,” he mutters, his voice low and laced with the ugliness of contempt. “We’ve been dating for six months.Six months.” He says it like waiting for me to be ready equates to a prison sentence. “I agreed to take it slow because you’re a virgin, but fuck…”
