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My mouth barely grazes the corner of hers when she tenses under me.
I’ve blown it already? I pull back. “You want to stop?” Please say no.
“It’s just”—her blush returns—“I don’t know where I’m supposed to put my hands.”
She’s so freaking cute. I meet her eyes and try not to laugh. “Escalator Girl, you can put your hands wherever you damn well want.”
This girl, my girl, gives me a tentative smile, lifts her fingers... and sets them on my face.
And I’m loving every second of her sweet touch.
chapter 33
Jess
T picked me up for school. We spent ten minutes making out in the back corner of the parking lot. Have I mentioned that being in his arms is like skydiving without ever having to land? He left me so high I didn’t even get pissed when Sarge pounded on the roof of the Camaro. Or cry when Mom got mad at Dad and smashed the ceramic sign I made of our last name in third grade.
~ from the diary of Elizabeth Sara Thorne (age16)
You can put your hands wherever you want.
The raw edge to Gabe’s words sets off a flash fear that I’m going to disappoint him, that I won’t know how to kiss him back. Gabe’s kissed a million girls. And I’ve kissed him. Once. What if I mess up?
But then the corners of his mouth curve in a slow, wicked grin that puts the most delicious spin in my belly, drowning my anxiety with the promise and possibility of a great big unknown I suddenly very much want to know.
He may not be stretched across my entire body, but the way he’s sitting on the bed next to me—our hips pressed together, his chest hovering over me while I’m on my back—it’s like I’m blanketed by him. And there’s nowhere else I want to be.
His deep chocolate eyes take me hostage. “We’re okay, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Exploring his face with my fingers, I focus on how the hardness of his jaw contrasts with the smoothness of his skin. I breathe in his just-showered smell. His hair’s still damp, flopping over his forehead, curling at the back of his neck. That’s where my fingers go next.
I’m blown away by how much I hang onto every sound, every touch, every thought in the wonderful rush of what’s happening between us. Later, I’ll worry about how easily I got caught in the magic that is Gabe. Now I lose myself in how he’s making me feel.
Warm. Safe. Special. Wanted. Part of something more than myself. I’ve never felt connected to anyone the way I feel connected to him.
Tilting his head, he closes the space between us, and I understand that saying about wild horses. They’re galloping inside my chest. But they’re not trying to drag me away, they’re pulling me toward him.
I shut my eyes. His lips touch mine, and he’s kissing me.
Only this time there’s no one watching, no one taking pictures, and we have as much time as we want. Forever sounds perfect.
I love how he teases my lower lip, then gives the other the same attention. I love how his fingers tangle in my hair. I love the soft groan he makes against my skin. But most of all, I love how his hands frame my face, how he feathers his thumbs against the corner of my mouth, how his tongue touches and dances with mine.
We kiss like that for years. Or maybe just days. I’m flying. I’m falling. I’m dizzy. A few seconds more, and I won’t even remember my own name.
When his lips begin a slow journey down my neck to press warm kisses on my collarbone, my hands get bolder, roaming over his solid shoulders and back, bunching in his T-shirt.
His fingers trail lightly down my side where they discover the bare skin between my tank and my shorts and squeeze the indent of my waist. His thumb circles my bellybutton, shooting sharp tingles through my body so fast I grab his hand and suck in my breath.
He stills his fingers, and buries his face in my neck, his breaths heavy.
That delicious spin in my stomach turns queasy and nervous. I’ve never done this before. What if he didn’t like it or he’s frustrated with me or mad I made him stop or—
“Better than the bottom of the escalator?” He lifts his head, and he doesn’t look anything close to mad, he looks like he won the lottery. And I’m the jackpot.
My stomach settles. I touch his swollen lips and mine. “So much better.” I run my fingers through his hair—because I can—combing back the piece that keeps falling over his forehead.
“I could get addicted to that smile.” He gives my bottom lip a soft kiss, then slowly eases off me and the bed.
