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I spent a great deal of time considering these elements before arriving at an overall grade—D being the worst thing I’d ever experienced and A as the highest accolade a kiss could earn.

No one ever achieved it.

Until now.

Liam Watts came closest. High scores across the board, except his hands let him down. He kept them stiffly by his side the whole time, which made the experience feel a little like kissing a robot.

But Owen’s hands are exactly where I want them, clasping my head like he’s terrified I might pull away.

And there’s a distinct possibility I might actually fall over because I’m so shocked, so awestruck by this man kissing me like no one ever has before, and so unbelievably turned on that I’m no longer entirely sure of anything.

The moment he draws back, cool air rushes between us as though the atmosphere itself isn’t happy about the separation.

I barely have time to breathe before he brushes my hair from my face and stares into my eyes like he’s about to jump into them.

“Tell me this is what you want. Tell me this is real,” he says.

“Yes, and yes. All of it, yes. I want this. I want you, for real, but why…?”

“There’ll be time for that, after, but right now, I want to do what I’ve been wanting to do from the moment I laid eyes on you over a year ago.”

Over a year?

Nothing makes sense anymore, which is understandable when all I can concentrate on are his hands sliding down my back.

This time, I’m the one who goes in for the kiss, because I’ll be damned if I don’t get to feel his lips on mine again.

Soft, supple, and moving with an almost hypnotic rhythm. I want to dance to it, sway to it, get lost in it. I don’t want this to stop because now it’s here, finally between us, I can feel just how badly I wanted it. How much I’ve craved it.

It’s been so long. Far too long.

“Alice.” Owen breaks away, his lips brushing my cheeks and travelling to my forehead. He closes his eyes like he’s breathing me in. “Where the hell have you been?”

“What do you mean?”

I hold onto his forearms as the room stirs, as though I’m being lifted from the solid ground of everything I’ve ever known and set down onto a cloud of possibilities where anything could happen.

I’m light. Free. Floating.

“I’m here,” I tell him. “I’ve been right here.”

He grazes my face with his thumb, his eyes fixed on me so intently, it’s like he’s studying every detail—every freckle, every blemish, every pore.

His hands travel from my cheeks to my shirt, slowly beginning to undo the buttons, and desire pulls low in my stomach, the dizzying rush of getting lost in the moment where nothing matters except this.

But then a small niggle tugs at the edges of my thoughts.

The need for this to be perfect.

To be exactly what I want it to be.

“Owen.” I place my hand on his, and he stops, glancing at me through hooded eyes. “I want this—like, really want this—but I’ve been at work all day. I’m sweaty and disgusting, and I don’t want to have sweaty, disgusting sex with you. I want to have nice, clean, perfect sex with you because I know you’d want that too.”

And he laughs.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Owen laugh properly before, but it’s here now: the curve of his mouth, the dimple in his cheek, the glimmer in his eyes as a chuckle escapes him.

“What?” I ask. “What did I say?”