Page 23 of Keep My Alpha

He laughs. “That’s actually a fair point.” He pulls a page from the stack, gripping the edges with both hands. “Okay. This one’s called ‘Inventory.’”

He starts to read.

His voice is different when he reads. Steadier. It takes me a minute to realize what the poem’s about.

It’s about me.

About a version of me, anyway. Certainly one that’s more intentional.

“And if he ever steps out from the shadow he...” Soren’s voice catches. He stops. Swallows. Starts again. “From the shadow he hides in, I think I’d...”

He stops again. His ears are bright red.

“Sorry,” he says to the page. “That part’s not finished.”

“Soren.”

“It’s rough. I know it needs work. The meter in the second stanza is...”

“Soren.”

He looks up.

I’m already moving. I don’t remember deciding to, but my hand is reaching across the space between us, cupping his jaw. My thumb rests on his cheekbone, fingers curling behind his ear. His skin is warm. His pulse kicks against my palm and his eyes go dark.

Three inches between our mouths. His lower lip is slightly fuller than the top. I can see the flutter of his lashes as he stares at my mouth the way I’m staring at his. My thumb moves on its own, brushing the corner of his lip, and it parts under the pad of my finger. Soft. So soft.

I want to taste the spot under his jaw where his breath comes short. I want to press my mouth there until the only sound he makes is my name.

“Can I kiss you?”

His yes isn’t even a word. It’s a breath, his whole body leaning into me.

I close the distance.

This isn’t like the hallway. The hallway was adrenaline and desperation, both of us half out of our minds. This is slow. His bedroom floor, afternoon light falling across his birds, his poem in his lap, and his mouth opening under mine like he’s been waiting for exactly this.

His lips are soft. He tastes like tea, warm and a little sweet, and underneath that, just him. I kiss him carefully at first, learning the shape of his mouth, the way his lower lip fits between mine, the surprised, pleased little sound he makes when I tilt his head back with my thumb.

His hand comes up and grips my wrist. Not pulling me away. Holding me here.

I kiss him deeper. His other hand finds my chest, fingers spreading over my heartbeat, and he can definitely feel how hard it’s going. There’s no hiding it. Not with his mouth moving against mine like a question he already knows the answer to.

His poem slides off his lap and onto the floor between us. Neither of us picks it up.

When we pull apart, his forehead stays pressed against mine. His breathing is ragged.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.”

“That was...”

“Yeah.”

“Can you do that again?”

I kiss him again. Softer this time, just the press of our lips, and he sighs into it, his whole body going loose. My thumb traces his jaw and his head tilts to give me more. I take it. Kissing the corner of his mouth, the spot just below his ear where his pulse beats hardest. I let my lips rest there a second too long, breathing him in, and the urge to open my mouth and drag my teeth over that spot is so strong my hands start to tremble.