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“Ziggy.” His voice breaks. He lifts a hand, wiping my tears. “Please don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.”
“Too bad. You brought me to a bookstore after hours with nobody to bug me and all the time in the world. You opened up to me and trusted me. You ‘showed me thank you’ very, very well, Sebastian. I’m allowed to cry.”
“Anything but tears,” he whispers, wiping my eyes as new ones spill down my cheeks. “Please.”
Biting my lip, I drop my head back against a shelf, gazes locked. “Well…if I was allowed one more chin boop, I think maybe I’d stop crying.”
He glares at me playfully, eyebrow arched, then sighs. “Fine.”
I push off the bookshelf, until our chests touch, until our faces are inches away. Slowly, I lift my finger, smiling as I press it into his chin. “Boop.”
He huffs a laugh, and I lower my hand, until it falls on his chest. My fingertips graze the skin at his open collar, the edge of a butterfly’s wing resting at the hollow of his throat.
Air rushes out of Sebastian as his grip on my back tightens. I peer up and our noses brush, our eyes hold.
Be brave, Ziggy. Be brave.
“Question,” I whisper.
A swallow works down his throat. “Answer.”
“Do you want to kiss me right now?”
He stares at me, his eyes soft as they dance across my face. “Every day since I saw you. Now. Tomorrow. When I’m on my deathbed. Yes, Ziggy, but we’re just—”
“Friends.”
He nods slowly, his nose grazing mine, air leaving him unsteadily as his hands drift down my back. “Just friends.”
“What about ‘just friends’…who kiss?”
He groans. “That sounds like bad news.”
“Funny,” I whisper, rubbing my nose against his, “I’ve been trying to give myself an edge lately. A little bad news seems right up my alley.”
“But I”—he exhales roughly, setting his temple to mine, his mouth brushing my ear—“am reforming. Bad news is the last thing a penitent should be seeking.”
“A penitent seeks absolution,” I tell him.
He nods, sighing when my fingers drift into his hair.
“Then let me absolve you. Let me tell you that this kiss can be between two friends who care about each other, who want to keep each other safe and make each other feel good. Let me tell you that in no way will you disappoint me or harm me in this. Enjoy me. Let me enjoy you. It can be that simple, I promise.”
“Ziggy,” he sighs, pulling me against him. His breathing’s unsteady. I feel his heart thudding fast and hard in his chest. “You promise? Nothing changes after this?”
I wrap my arms around his neck, my lips brushing his ear. “I promise.”
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t give me time, and I love it. He cups my face and devours my mouth.
I sigh as I taste him, as his lips sweep over mine, first gentle, then hard and desperate. I clutch his shoulders as his hands slide down my waist, then lower. He spreads his hands across the curve of my backside, tugging me closer.
A gasp leaves me at the exquisite relief of his body wedged against mine. He’s hard inside his jeans, rubbing right up against my clit beneath my shorts. Pleasure pools warm and aching, a soft, steady pulse. Every inch of me melts into him.
I tug his hair, and now he gasps. I kiss him harder, teeth clacking, until he settles our rhythm—hips fused, rolling together, mouths moving, slow and decadent, hot, hungry strokes of tongue.
I could do this forever—kiss him, hear him, hold him—drink in every sensation of his body so connected to mine. Sebastian’s hand goes to my hair and dives into my braid, cupping my head.
“Ziggy,” he pants. “God, you taste so good. You feel so good.”
