Page 56 of The Lovers

“Do I need to say it?”

I triple-dog dare you to kiss me on the mouth.

I’m close enough now that I can taste her breath on the air. I can smell the sunlight on her skin. I can touch her waist with the tips of my fingers. I can, and I want to, and as terrifying as it still is to feel those feelings and not push them away, I also know that feelings won’t kill me.

But not touching her might.

She lets out a sharp exhale when I do. The tip of her tongue slips out to wet her lips. I look deep into her eyes as I run my hand over her curves, cupping the nape of her neck.

I tip her chin up with my other hand.

“DoI?” she breathes.

I fit my lips over hers, soft, so slow at first. Like the first few licks of an ice cream cone.

I don’t want to rush—afraid of freezing up. I want to make it count.

Every last taste.

I brace for how this feeling overloads my senses.

Firm, plump, and small—her mouth fits like a puzzle piece with mine. She reaches up, gripping the belt loops on my jean shorts and tugging me into her. Our hips bump before her hand trails around my back and her fingers graze skin where my croptop meets my shorts. All my measured moves, the careful contemplation of her lips and mine, now feel way too slow.

Not enough. Never enough.

I press my tongue to her lips, edging them open. The flesh tangles, breath slides back and forth, and all those years of confusion melt away with the heat of our kiss. I press her back against the doorframe, smoothing my hands over the mounds of her shoulders, the dip in her waist, to mold them around the curve of her ass.

She twists us inside, and her hands rove up my back, fingering the wild waves of my hair, before she breaks the kiss, peppering more down the line of my neck. It feels so good—different from before.Better.I don’t care who might walk by the window and see us. I don’t have to know what this means, where it’s going. I lose myself in the moment and I’ve never felt more certain that this is what I want.

Her.

Tangled in her body, wrapped up in her arms.

My fingers are feverish to touch her skin, wanting to get under her fitted shirt, but I don’t want to unbutton it without her permission.

And I’m still too nervous to ask.

I settle for roaming over her waist, around to her back, gripping, feeling, desperately yearning. She presses my thighs open with hers so I can straddle her, and I let out an exhale of relief. Warmth aches between my legs, ready to ignite, but I want to slow down, to savor.

I break the kiss and make eye contact. Hers are darkly dilated with desire—it’s thrilling to see that reflected and know it’s because of me.

She wants me just like I want her.

“You’re still a really good kisser,” I say, breathless.

“Takes one to know one.” She presses her smile to mine, light and playful.

I’m ready to go in for another round when her ass begins buzzing. She reaches back to yank her phone out of her pocket.

“It’s Zoe,” she says. “Shit. I have to take this.” We separate, and it’s the first time it dawns on me that we were making out in her bungalow, of which the main living area doubles as the Homebase for wedding operations. Anyone on her staff with a key could have walked in on us.

The thought is more of a thrill than I expect.

“Hey, Zoe—just made it back to the venue—” She’s cut off by whatever Zoe is saying. From this proximity it soundsalarmed. Julia’s listening face is pinched and puckered, her brows cinched into squiggles. “Oh Jesus, I’m coming.”

She hangs up, her eyes trailing apologetically to me.

“Wedding emergency?” I ask.