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I watch as Vaughn and I follow our lines and host the show, and I cringe most of the time wondering if that’s really what I sound like.
“I sound like an idiot,” I tell Vaughn.
He sets the bowl of popcorn aside. “I love the way you sound.” He kisses me before I can say anything else. His hand moves into my hair, controlling my head and the kiss. When he deepens it, I move to straddle his lap. “I love the way you kiss. I love the way you move.”
I grind into his hardness.
“I love you, Paisley.”
I continue the kiss, not wanting it to end. I push my body against his, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to feel him.
He runs his hands under the hem of my shirt, pushing it up and over my head. The way he stares at my black-lace bra like it’s the first time he’s ever seen my breasts. “I love you,” he whispers again.
“I love you too.”
We spend the rest of the night proving our love over and over. And at the end of the night, when we’re all nestled in my king-sized bed in my bedroom, I hold him tighter, telling him how I’ve always loved him. I tell him there’s never been anyone else I could ever want in my life.
Sure, I wanted Vaughn James to be my first kiss, but it’s even better knowing he’ll be my last.
