Pretend We're Over (Pretend 2)

behind me.

“It wasn’t as bad as your singing,” I say.

She laughs. “That’s not why I’m laughing.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because the only songs you know are boy bands.”

I stop, and Millie slams into my back.

“Shawn Mendes isn’t a boy band. Neither is Justin Bieber,” I say, remembering the earlier song I sang to her.

She laughs harder. “Stop, you’re making it harder to breathe.”

So then I start singing Maroon 5’s ‘Harder to Breathe.’

“That’s a real boy band,” I say.

“Oh my god, seriously stop. I can’t—“

I turn, and she runs smack dab into me, chest to chest. Face to face. I’m standing downhill from her, so we are actually at eye level with each other. We breathe into each other. Our mouths are hovering over each other but not crossing the line.

Millie leans forward, her pink lips so close to mine. I want them. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t found the waterfall yet. It doesn’t matter that I’m not in control. What matters is that we want to kiss.

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

“Are you begging, Mills?”

Her lips part, and her tongue slides through, licking her bottom lip, making it perfectly clear what she’d like me to do.

I swallow hard. This is what I wanted. I wanted her to initiate. I wanted her to beg. I wanted her to want me. To want to be kissed. To want to be fucked.

“Yes, just like your body is. Your lips have parted. Your breath has caught. You’ve leaned closer. Caught us both entirely out of breath so that we can’t think and stop this. We are both begging—now kiss me,” she says.

Suddenly, I spot the waterfall trickling behind her through the trees. I grab her hand and yank her in that direction.

“What are you doing?” she squeals. “Sebastian, I’m tired. I don’t care about the damn perfect waterfall, just—“

She gasps when she sees the sight. It’s the most beautiful, magical vision. I never knew things like this existed in real life. It looks completely untouched by mankind even though a trail leads right to it. Not very many people have ventured four hours through the steamy jungle to see the simple flow of water over a cliff into a small pool of water surrounded by flowers and greenery that seem to only exist in Hawaii. I’ve never seen anything like it.

“It’s—,” Millie breathes in, trying to find the right words to describe how incredible it is, but I don’t give her time to think. I want to give her the perfect kiss. Partially because I want to spark her to search for her own happily ever after again, but also because I want to be her best first kiss. I want her to compare all men to me. I want to be impossible to top, so that when a man finally tops it, she can know he is the real deal.

A kiss by a man who truly loves her doesn’t need to be done near a waterfall in Hawaii, the best kiss of her life just needs to be given by a man who loves her. He can kiss her by a dumpster filled with rotting fish and sewage, and it will still be the best damn kiss of her life.

I grab her neck, my thumbs caressing her jawline, and before she catches her breath, I close the gap, and our mouths meet for the first time that either of us remembers.

I forget about where we are. I forget about the waterfall. The sweet scent of the flowers. The beautiful roar of the water.

The seconds our lips touch, I’m consumed by her—her smell, her taste, her touch. It overpowers everything else. All I can feel is her.

She smells like juniper breeze. She tastes like strawberry jam. She feels like heaven in my arms.

This was supposed to be the best damn kiss of her life, but it’s quickly becoming mine. I’ve never had a kiss like this—one that literally took my breath away, along with all of my thoughts and senses.

I don’t know what is going on in Millie’s head, but I hear the moans she’s making, her hands digging into my chest, pulling me tighter against her, our hips slamming together. Her tongue begs for more in my mouth, and I give it to her. Our tongues glide over each other’s in a teasing dance.

This kiss has to end before I yank all her clothes off and fuck her in the middle of the rain forest. That might sound romantic as hell, but I doubt when we have splinters and poison ivy and ticks, it will still feel that romantic. I want Millie in a proper bed—my bed. I want her in that heavenly bed back at our hotel.