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“I don’t want to,” I reply breathlessly.
“Then tell me to kiss you.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Then tell me you’ll see us again. Both of us.” He drags his hovering lips up my neck and along my jawline.
Our mouths are separated only by a soft breath as I reply, “Okay. Yes. I’ll see you both again.”
His intense gaze burns as I stare back at him. His other hand reaches up and slides along my jaw and into my hair, holding my head as if he’s going to kiss me.
As he leans in, I panic. “Don’t,” I bark, just as our lips are about to touch.
Like a good boy, he stops.
For a while, he holds the position, just staring at me as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
“Fuck it,” he mutters. Then his mouth crashes against mine as he devours my lips in a blazing kiss.
I could push him away. I could tell him to stop.
I don’t.
I hold a hand in his hair and pull him closer, tangling my tongue with his and biting on his lower lip every chance I get.
I never forgot how good his kisses were. I’ve relived them every single day since our relationship ended. The way his mouth makes me forget everything in the outside world.
His body presses firmly against mine, and I let out a groan at the way his hardening cock grinds against my hips. We are lost in an inferno of passion, grabbing, biting, and touching one another.
With a tight grip around my thighs, he hoists me onto my dresser and grinds himself between my legs, humming into my mouth like he’s possessed.
“God, I missed you,” he murmurs, and part of me starts to panic because it feels like I’m losing control. We are not getting back together. I did not agree to this.
But I can’t stop it, and I don’t want to. Because the truth is, I missed him too. I missed the comfort of his touch and how, without reason, the intimacy between us reached further than something sexual. It was almost spiritual.
“I missed you, too,” I whimper.
To my surprise, it’s him who ends the kiss first. Breathlessly, he pulls away, and we gasp for air at once.
Our hands don’t leave each other’s bodies while our foreheads rest together. After a moment, I slide off the dresser to stand with my body flush against his.
“Are you going to tell her about that?” I ask in a panting whisper.
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “I have to.”
I nod, swallowing the uncertainty.
Will she hate me for having a moment with her boyfriend? Or will she really be jealous that it was his lips and not hers?
“Will you please tell me to leave now so I don’t do something that will be much harder to explain?” he begs playfully.
I smile as I push on his chest. “Get out of here.”
