"Lily." My name comes out ruined. A warning and a plea all at once.
I release him, finally, and he slips free and exhales like it was the hardest thing he has ever done. Then he lies down beside me, and we both stare at the ceiling while the world slowly reassembles itself around us.
I turn my head. He's already watching me. All those times I caught his eye, only for him to pull away. He isn't pulling away now.
"Hi," I whisper.
The corner of his mouth moves.
"Hi."
His hand finds mine, fingers closing over mine, warm and certain and lazy.
With his eyes on me, I lie there, my body still humming, his hand in mine, knowing I am in trouble.
And underneath that, I'm already thinking about when I will get to feel this again.
20
CAL
She has mascara smudged under her eyes. Her hair is everywhere, across the pillow, over her shoulder, strands stuck to her sweaty neck in ways that shouldn't look as good as they do. Her lips are swollen and she's staring at the ceiling with a small, satisfied smile that I put there.
I'm propped on my elbow, and I cannot stop staring. Nothing prepared me for this Lily. Naked and spent and sprawled across a bed too small for both of us, completely at ease and utterly shameless.
I trace the birthmark on her ribs that I'd found an hour ago, letting my fingers move slowly across the dip of her waist, past the bruise I left on her collarbone. I should feel bad about that, but I don't.
I push a strand of hair off her face and she turns her head, eyes still glazed, the corner of her mouth pulling up.
"You're staring."
"Yeah."
"You've been staring for a while."
"I'm aware."
She smiles fully, and I lean down and kiss her because I can't stay away. She tastes sweet and right.
Her hand comes up to rest on the side of my neck, warm fingers and light pressure and no urgency, just touching me because she can.
I feel like a teenager. Fifteen years old after my first real make-out session, where kissing is the whole event and three inches of air is physically unbearable.
I haven't felt this in years. Maybe ever. I've had good sex with women I liked and respected, but I've never come out the other side unable to stop kissing someone.
I kiss the corner of her mouth. Her face. The spot below her ear that made her gasp earlier.
"Callahan," she says into the space between us, and even now my full name hits me deep.
"Hmm?" I'm already tracing down her throat, already lost.
I keep kissing her because I have no defense against any of this, and when she smiles against my lips, I'm happy.
I pull back. She chases my mouth for a second before settling, eyes half-closed.
”Hi," she smiles.
"Hi," I smile back.
