Page 8 of Depths of Desire (The Saints of Westmont U #4)

I snorted. “Seriously?”

“It’s a game.”

“It’s my turn, anyway,” I said.

Oliver shrugged. He wasn’t going to let me get out of it.

I considered it. “Okay. I like smart guys. Quiet confidence. Eyes that look like they’re always sizing you up. And swimmers, for some reason.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Yeah. Weird, right?”

He didn’t respond, but I could feel his eyes on me again.

Felt it like a pull low in my stomach. Wasn’t this game supposed to be distracting me from the fact that I wanted nothing more than for the bed to shrink by the sheer force of my wish so that our bodies would be slammed together in a cosmic clash? Yeah.

He cleared his throat. “Truth. What was your first kiss like?”

I chuckled. “You mean my real first kiss or the one I pretend was my first?”

“Both.”

“Fake one was perfect. Party, music, fairy lights, warm night. The guy was sweet. I think he’s a lawyer now. Real one was in my sophomore year in high school, behind the library, with a kid who swore he wasn’t gay. He cried afterward. I think I did, too.”

“Damn,” Oliver said.

“Yeah. Romantic, huh?”

Another pause. The room felt heavier. The sound of the wind outside seemed far away now. I rolled onto my side, facing away, needing the shift in position to focus.

Then came his voice again, lower this time. “Truth. Have you ever wanted to kiss someone you weren’t supposed to?”

That one landed differently.

I felt it in my chest. Slow and heavy. “Yeah,” I said.

There was silence between us. And in that silence, more answers than I could give.

Then he asked it.

“Truth. If I hadn’t said no touching…?”

“Would I have dared you to touch each other?” I interrupted, forcing a laugh.

He didn’t laugh. “Would something have happened?”

I swallowed. “I’d have probably died of nerves and made weird jokes to hide it.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“Fine.” I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck, stalling. “I probably would’ve tried to lie still and pretend I wasn’t thinking about kissing you.”

The air changed. It got warmer. Closer.

Oliver rolled onto his side to face me. I didn’t turn right away. I wasn’t sure I could without giving everything away.

Then, under the comforter, his toes gently nudged against mine. A small touch. Barely there. But it knocked every thought from my head.

“So…you’re thinking about it?” he asked.

“Trying not to,” I said.

But I was. Constantly.

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

The mattress dipped. The sheets rustled. His fingers brushed my arm, tentative, like he was still giving me the chance to stop this.

I didn’t move.

When I finally turned my face toward him, he was right there. Closer than I expected, his eyes watching mine, lips parted just slightly.

“Can I?” he asked.

I didn’t say yes. I just leaned in.

His mouth met mine, and everything else stopped.

The storm outside, the tension in my chest, the ache I hadn’t known was there until now. All of it melted under the press of his lips. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft. Measured. His hand slid to the side of my neck, warm and steady.

I kissed him back, deeper, letting the sheets twist between us as we shifted. My palm found his chest, and I felt the solid thud of his heart under my hand.

He broke the kiss first, just barely, his forehead resting against mine.

“I thought you said no touching,” I whispered.

“I changed my mind.”

We both laughed under our breath, our smiles brushing in the dark.

Then I kissed him again.

And this time, there was no pretending anything.

His mouth was soft, but the kiss had weight to it. Heat. A kind of slow, aching hunger that made my whole body pay attention. His hand cupped the side of my neck, thumb brushing my jaw, and I couldn’t stop the quiet noise that escaped me when I kissed him.

I wanted more. Not in a frantic way or in a way that needed to be rushed. Just more of this. His warmth, his closeness, and his heated breath washing over my cheek.

I shifted closer, one arm sliding around his waist. He didn’t pull back.

If anything, he leaned in, chest to chest now, the comforter twisted between us like an afterthought.

My hand moved along the curve of his spine, feeling the play of muscles under skin.

He was warm everywhere I touched. More than warm, he was solid and alive.

He kissed differently than I expected. Not hesitant or uncertain. There was a focus in it and an intention, like he wanted to memorize how I tasted.

My fingers feathered along the side of his torso. His skin was smooth and hot to the touch. I felt the faint shift of his ribs as he breathed in deep. He didn’t stop me. He just mirrored the motion, dragging his palm across my bare side, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

It was almost too much and not enough all at once.

Our legs tangled. His thigh brushed mine. Every point of contact burned a little brighter. The space between our kisses shortened until it was nothing. Mouths barely separating. Breaths shared. That low hum in my chest had turned into a steady throb that reached down my arms and across my ribs.

I wanted to remember this. Every slow drag of his hand over my back, the press of his mouth to mine, open and eager and just shy of wild, the way he made a soft sound when I nipped at his lower lip and then chased the kiss again like he couldn’t bear the break.

It was the kind of kiss that made the world feel small. Just us, in the hush of a snowbound cabin. Just us, under the sheets, pulling closer like our future depended on it.

Pressing his hand against my chest, Oliver broke the contact for a moment. “Lennox,” he said, out of breath. “You should know, I don’t…” The hesitation made my chest tight with apprehension. “My life. It’s complicated. I don’t have the space for more than this.”

The pressure lifted off me instantly. I let out a laugh. “I didn’t propose to you,” I said, putting my hand over his in the middle of my chest. “It’s just fun. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Oliver waited a moment longer, as if to check whether I would cave in and tell him something fatalistic that would make tonight a mistake.

I didn’t. He wasn’t interested in dating, and neither was I.

Two single guys in a bed somewhere off the grid wasn’t a big romantic opening, and that was just fine with me.

So when Oliver gave in, his body relaxing as he pressed my chest harder and rolled me onto my back, I let him. He towered over me, putting his knees between my legs and kissing me from above.

His fists sank into the mattress on either side of my shoulders, his torso lowering as his lips parted and let his tongue venture into my mouth.

I couldn’t decide what turned me on the most. Maybe it was the heated passion with which he shoved his tongue into my mouth. Maybe it was the weight of his torso pressing down on mine. Or maybe it was the incredible sensation of his hard cock resting against mine.

When I felt him there, my hands slapped his back, and nails dug into his flesh.

I pulled him closer, not believing this could be real.

Was I really making out with my first crush?

I didn’t want to pinch myself to check. If I woke up in the next second and discovered that we had gone to sleep on the far ends of the bed, it would kill me.

As if he saw my mind wandering away from this moment, Oliver slipped his left hand under my head, fingers running through my messy locks, and looked into my eyes. I could see the intensity of his soul burning in his eyes even in near darkness. His breathing was shallow, mine nonexistent.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

I hesitated only long enough for my heart to swell. “God, yes.”

We melted into one another, torsos pressing together, mouth crushing mouth, his crotch rubbing against mine, and my legs lifting to curl around Oliver’s waist. We grew so close in this heated moment, but I needed more. If only I could live under his skin.

After hearing the truth in my assent, Oliver didn’t hold back. His body moved smoothly, muscles tightening and relaxing, arms coiling around me, his weight resting squarely on me.

Smother me , I wanted to beg. But I didn’t need to voice it. His abs tensed against mine, his hips thrusting forward in a hopeless, desperate rut and rubbing his cock hard against my lifted ass. His grunt filled my ears as he tightened his hold on me, pulling me closer and pushing me harder down.

I couldn’t find the line that separated his body from mine, or even our souls. Each kiss brought his essence into me, and I yearned to give him some of mine, kissing his back in haste, licking, biting, dying for his touch.

Oliver no longer asked questions. One confirmation was enough, and I adored him for it.

He wasn’t methodical about it, but a wild mess of kisses, touches, and sighs.

When his teeth sank into the soft part of my ear, I wanted to curl into a ball.

When his lips trailed my neck, my lower back thrust upward in an uncontrolled reply.

And when he kissed the middle of my chest down to my solar plexus, I threaded my fingers through his rich, chestnut hair, closing my fists around the floppy locks and driving his head lower.

His lips dragged down my abs with little input from me.

He knew where he wanted to go; he knew where I wanted him.

There was no need for words or nudges. He simply went for it, pressing his tongue flat against my muscles and dragging it up my torso before kissing the trail back.

He went lower still, over my belly button and down the happy trail of pale hair I felt like I should have shaved.

Oliver let out a heated breath against my body, and I changed my mind. He liked the trail.

His fingers slipped under my ass and squeezed my cheeks hard, like he needed to reach deep into the muscle, like he needed to feel the shiver that ran through my body and the instinctive tightness of my glutes when they clenched.