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He kisses different than any man I’ve ever kissed, and instinctively I know any man I might ever kiss in the future. There’s no immediate rush for gratification. He drinks from my lips first. Sucking them gently into his mouth as if he is afraid he will hurt me. I tighten my fingers in his shirt, unsure of what to do, or maybe, what not to do. I only know I don’t want him to stop. I’ve wanted Gavin’s kiss forever and it doesn’t matter to me that it’s been twelve years since our first real conversation. It doesn’t matter at all. I still want his kiss…
I need it.
I feel his teeth press down softly against the inside of my bottom lip as he sucks on it. His hand comes up to slide against the side of my neck, his thumb fans softly back and forth on my cheek, making me feel feminine and sexy all at once. When he begins to pull back, on instinct my tongue slides against his lip, not wanting to lose contact with him, needing him to stay—not leave. Maybe that’s what he was waiting for, but that’s when his tongue slides against mine dancing with it in a way that may have ruined any other kisses for me.
I’ve often heard girls say kissing was like tasting sex. I never understood what it meant. Yet, that’s exactly what kissing Gavin is like. Tasting sex. Forbidden, erotic, earthy, and addicting. It’s all of that and more—so much more.
It seems to go on forever and yet at the same time, ends way too quickly. All I know is that by the time it is finished I’m breathless and dizzy. He pulls away gently, but not too far. He keeps me close, which is good because my knees are definitely weak.
“You know how to kiss,” he whispers.
I lick my lips—still tasting him. They tingle, but then so do all the other parts of my body. Especially the areas I wish he’d touch right now.
“Right back at you,” I answer, unthinkingly.
The most miraculous thing happens. Surprise registers on Gavin’s face. Then he smiles, a big smile, right before he lets out a large laugh. A laugh that vibrates against my hands that are still on his stomach. It’s a laugh that causes these little lines to tighten around his eyes. The lines weren’t there twelve years ago. They’ve been worn into the skin over the years. I thought he was perfection when I was in high school, but the years have truly made Gavin better. It seems unfair, really. I’ve fought with muffin tops and widening thighs, gray strands of hair, and wrinkles slowly beginning to appear. Yet, Gavin seems to have aged to perfection. He has a scar now, a deep one that travels from his temple and lazily down his jawline. That too, somehow makes him sexier.
Damn him.
I rub my lips together again, searching for his taste while wondering how he would react if I kiss him again. His laugh quietens and he places a chaste kiss on my forehead.
“How did I ever walk away from you twelve years ago, Casey?” he asks. That reminder feels like cold water being poured on me. I’d step away from him if I could. He has me pinned against the door, so I can’t. He can’t miss the way my body stiffens however, or the way I let go of his shirt. My fingers instantly miss the warm, smooth skin and the indentions of his chiseled abs.
Seriously, how can a man have a six pack like that? I’ve seen them in magazines and book covers, sure. I was one hundred per cent sure however, that the photo was airbrushed to hell and back again. I know Gavin is a stuntman by trade, but damn does he have to look like sex on a stick, especially when he makes a point of reminding me why I should guard myself around him.
“Because there was a prom queen waiting for you,” I try and joke. I hope my reply doesn’t seem bitter. I’m not, not really, it’s not his fault he never knew I existed in school. And the night that meant so much to me, doesn’t have the same importance to him. He was there with another woman. He couldn’t have known how amazing spending time with him was for me, or how I wished he wouldn’t have walked away. He couldn’t have known that watching him walk away without looking back, or asking for my number…or anything but silence, hurt.
But….it did hurt.
I’m a realist. Gavin O’Leary was never in my stratosphere. He’s still not, despite what tonight might have seduced me into believing. I need to be careful not to forget that. I’m no longer in high school. I’m no longer a kid. The damage Gavin could inflict on me now would be painful and long-lasting.
