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“Okay. Feel free to make me pancakes.” As usual, I hide behind my shield of humor because the constant undercurrent of awkwardness heightens. But instead of running away as I’ve done in the past, I embrace it. “Good night, Cayden.” Before he has a chance to shy away, it’s my turn to touch him, and I do—with my lips.
Standing on tippy-toes, I gently place my hand on one cheek, his scruff softer than anything I’ve ever felt before. The blue to his eyes spark bright in panic and something else, but I use that adrenaline rush to quickly smash my lips to the other cheek. I’m afraid he’ll pull away; hence, the reason I captured him with my palm. But he does the complete opposite. He turns into my touch. He surrenders. To me.
Being this close to him, I want to lather myself in his signature fragrance. His flesh is hot to the touch, it almost burns me, but it speaks to the fire burning inside me. A kiss fills the silence when words are not enough, but this, right here, is more than enough.
Cayden hums, and my ears are close to climaxing. I need to leave. Committing this moment to memory, I swiftly break our connection and dive into the safety of my home. Locking the door, I lean against it to catch my breath. The butterflies have stolen my air.
Once I’ve calmed, I brush the hair from my flushed cheeks and decide to crash because I am suddenly exhausted beyond belief. As I take a step forward, the presence of a solid shadow on my porch alerts me to the fact that Cayden is still there.
The chance to see him once more is too tempting to let pass, so I tiptoe to the window, hoping the lace curtain veils me from his view. But when I see him staring off into the distance, his attention riveted on the lake with his hand pressed to his cheek, the one I just kissed, I know his thoughts are elsewhere.
I’d give a penny for those thoughts because whatever they are…they take my breath away yet again.
