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It feels like our lips somehow remember each other’s. Two old friends falling into a wordless conversation of breaths and tongues and the tug of my bottom lip sliding between his teeth.

I moan against his mouth, and he swallows the sound.

And my heart, it feels like it remembers his, too. Pounding against his. A steady and wistfulhello. Tugging itself another inch closer.

It was that first day in English class all those years ago that I felt that string weave its way around my heart. Over and under, and through and around. Around, and around, and around, it wove itself into me—the invisible string that connected my heart to his.

And over the course of days, and weeks, and months of time spent together, it drew them closer together and pulled them further apart. Together and apart, and together and apart, with all of our ups and downs.

But it always remained. Strong and sturdy. Strengthening over time, until it couldn’t be severed.

When I saw Greyson again, after all these years, in my coffee shop, it was the first time I felt that string tugging against my heart again, too. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like. That connection.

But here, with Greyson, his heart firmly beating against my own, that connection feels more like a lifeline, calling me back home.

His lips trail over my mouth, across my jaw, and down my neck, effectively reeling my mind away from these thoughts and back into the present moment.

He carries me out of his studio and straight into his bedroom. I let out a sigh of relief as he lands us both on his bed, the large frame of his body settling in between my thighs.

I can feel him everywhere. Literally, figuratively.

From the pressure of his lips at my neck, to his hardness pressing against my core, to the tips of my toes now trailing up his legs, my heart still racing against his.

The weight of this moment, the intensity of it—of Greyson and me, here, in his bed, our eyes locked together—burrows itself deep down into my bones, leaving me breathless.

And then his mouth crashes against mine once more, and there’s no air left to breathe but his. We share every single one of his breaths as his tongue glides over mine, his hand making its way up my leg, wrapping it around his hip while his other hand keeps his chest hovering just above mine, and I’m lost in him all over again.

I let my hands roam over him. Over every inch of him. His arms, his neck, his chest, his back.Lower.

Firm, solid muscle that I ache to dig my fingertips into.

So, I do it. And he groans. Thrusting his hips into mine as he kisses me deep into oblivion, and I nearly lose my mind.

I have this muted, faraway thought, that maybe I should attempt to slow things down and savor them a little longer, but I’m far too impatient. My body is too impatient, screaming out for more of his. And thankfully, that impatience seems to match his impeccably.

He pulls away, breaking our kiss to slip off my jacket, and I practically rip his shirt from his chest.

My shirt goes just as quickly. He pulls it over my head, and then his lips are on mine again, and…

“Oh, god,” I breathe against his mouth, skin brushing over skin.

His lips trail away, following a path down my neck, across my chest, and over the swell of my breasts.

I slide my fingers through his hair, through the longer part at the top, my heart steadily pounding out of my ribcage.

Pounding, and pounding, and pounding away. Matching the rhythm of the deep ache between my legs.

“I really want—” Greyson pulls away, breathing heavily. “—but should we—” he swallows, and I lose myself in his eyes, “—should we hold off? Do you want to wait?”

I shake my head. “No. No fucking way,” I say, breathless, and he smiles, lip caught between his teeth.

“Thank God,” he says, between one breath and the next, and I quickly reach for his pants at the same exact moment that he reaches for mine. We both start quietly laughing. The breath of our laughter collides between us; the vibration of it hums against my chest. And I can’t tear my eyes away from his, from the lust and need and adoration shining in them. It seizes my breaths.

Becauseholy shit,but I love him. I definitely still love him. Absolutely insane or not, entirely out of my mind or perhaps the sanest I’ve ever felt in my life—the feelings are there. Climbing up my throat and desperately wanting to spill from my lips.

They’re right here. On the tip of my tongue. But Greyson kisses them away, his mouth sliding over mine achingly slow. So I swallow them back and push them forward through the touch of my lips instead, searing the eight letters into his skin.

Up his throat, and against his mouth. I will him to feel them through our kiss.Can he feel them? Does he feel this too?