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He lowered his head, closing his eyes respectfully while tilting his left ear toward me. He was willing to listen. He was willing to try.
That meant something.
A cleansing breath gave me the energy to continue. “I said many rude things to you. I inferred and assumed instead of asking for clarification.” Shame haunted my gaze. “I wanted to give you a chance, but I was scared. I presumed that you would bully me again.”
“You were acting from experience. That’s understandable.”
“I should have acted from the present, not the past.”
He grabbed my hand. “I can’t blame you. I was an asshole.”
“A big one.”
“Alright, easy.”
A high-pitched giggle exploded from me, causing me to slap my hand over my mouth. The remnants of it remained in the form of a shy smile.
He rubbed the back of my hand. “You’re right. I was an asshole. I should have listened to you when you were telling me your feelings.”
“I should have been more willing to approach you.”
Some hesitation marked his next breath, and then he snickered nervously. “Yeah, you were cold there for a moment.”
“I was reserved.”
“Galanthia…”
I grunted, shrugged, and glanced at the new lights above our heads. “Yes, alright. I was cold. I should have been more receptive to your needs.”
“I should have told you my needs.”
“I should have—”
He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me in tight to him, sending a flush of heat through my body so fast that I whimpered. “Galanthia, I should have kissed you ages ago.”
With a feverish movement, he stole my lips, reminding me of the paths that had led to this moment. Pins marked those roads like tacks on a map. Each one was sharper than the last, leaving less room for air and recovery as he kissed me repeatedly. Yearning branded us desperate as I clawed at his shirt, trying to rip it off to get to the skin beneath.
“Hang on—easy—Lanthie.”
He grabbed a chunk of my hair and held it taut.
Blue melted into hazel like twin pools of paint. I stared into his eyes for what felt like an eternity as I felt his soul tell me what he wanted. At once, the outpouring drove me to my feet and inspired me to lead him to the locker room. We needed privacy. We needed somewhere to make up for lost time.
A week was simply too long.
The doorclangedshut as we stumbled over the tile. My back hit a set of lockers, their metal knobs digging into my flesh as Xavier struggled with my top. Nimble fingers skimmed under the fabric, tearing euphoric utterances from me. Every sound propelled his movement, sucked him into to touching and kissing as much as he could manage. Apologies were important—but this was far better than such sentiments.
Actions spoke louder than words. Our bodies seemed to intuitively understand the power of our coupling, urging us to take the high road so we could go even higher. Debates could be done in friendly fervor, but ours were out of control. We had to find common ground. We had to establish a balance, or we would be doomed to repeat this cycle for the remainder of our lives.
That wasn’t what I wanted.
I pressed my hands to his chest. He paused his progressive exploration of my neck, drifting back a few inches, filling the space with feverish panting. “What? Did I do something?”
“No, it’s that…” I dug through the fog of my lust. “I think we ought to take things easy now. We’re too quick to bite.”
“I thought we liked biting.”
I ran my hands over his shoulders. “I want this. And I want to make sure we’re not falling into a bad pattern.”
