Page 63 of Liar

I lean in, my heart pounding. “I want to kiss you.” There, I said it. It’s out there.

Without waiting for his reaction, I press my lips to his.

His lips are slightly warm and pulled tight.

Try to resist me.

I brush my lips lightly across his, testing the waters, before I truly kiss him. I’ll always remember the sweet sound of it, the intimate connection something so simple brings. My first kiss.

Though, in truth, it doesn’t feel anything like the gut-wrenching yearning I heard my friends describe.

He sits stiffly beside me but doesn’t pull away.

Tongue. I should use some tongue.

I lick my way across the tight seam of his lips. Tasting hard liquor, nicotine, and the slightest hint of mint.

The third pass is the most assertive, fueled by curiosity and his own lackluster response, and my overwhelming need to brand him as my own. My lips are firmer, my kiss stronger, my tongue ten times more tempting. Like I want to break him open and steal inside. I give him fire, yet he remains ice, neither pulling away nor dipping in for more, just frozen in place.

The entire time, he watches me. Giving nothing back. Not comprehending the gift I’m offering him.

I lift my head and give him a shy smile. “My present to you. A reminder of me when the hardness settles in.”

His eyes pierce into me.

“My first kiss is yours.”

It happens all at once, and so fast, I can’t even manage a squeal. His hands are on me, tugging me into his body. His arm curls around my shoulders, and my head falls back onto his.

His fingers lift my chin.

Our eyes reconnect, his flashing hot enough to burn down Loreto.

His lips don’t brush sweetly over mine. His tongue doesn’t tease a response. His kiss plunders like the man he is, dangerous, demanding,sexy. He doesn’t just brand me, he claims me.

Mine.

His tongue invades my mouth, the warm wetness of it entwining with my own.

He kisses me like he needs to taste every inch of me, like I’m not the only one who can’t get enough. My moans are swallowed whole. My body shakes with need, from the tips of my curling toes to the ends of the fingers I’ve dug through his hair.

A French kiss—another amazing first. And if I have my way, it won’t be our last.

In this small yard, under the cover of darkness, the world pauses.

This is better than anything I imagined.

It’s him who withdraws first, physically pulling away to stare at me.

My hands fall to the side. It’s hard to tell who’s more shocked.

I know what’s coming but nonetheless, it’s bittersweet when it happens—the invisible ice-wall slammed into the space between us.

I prepare to be crushed. It was worth the heartache.

And he does crush me, rips me to shreds,ruinsme—but not in a way I anticipated.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”