His eyelids flutter together.
He leans down.
I rise to my tiptoes.
Our lips brush. Just barely. But it's enough to fill my body with warmth. With need. With love.
My fingers go slack. My bag hits the hardwood floor with a light thud. It's loud enough to wake Emma, but I don't care.
I don't care about anything but getting my hands in his thick, dark hair.
I don't care about anything but kissing him back.
He tastes like whiskey. It shouldn't taste good, but it does. It tastes like him.
I kiss him harder.
Deeper.
I shift my hips against his. Tug at his hair. Groan against his lips.
He feels better than he tastes.
He's everything I want.
Well, almost.
I can't risk that.
But, then, I can't swallow this down much longer.
I kiss him until my lips are numb. When I finally come up for air, he's staring back into my eyes.
"Nice to see you too." He pulls the elastic band from my hair, undoing my ponytail. "Work good?"
"Busy." I have to tell you something. I'm broken. I know you won't believe me, so let me explain. I rise to my tiptoes. Kiss him again. Anything to keep the words from spilling.
He untucks my shirt. Undoes the top button. Then the next. His fingers brush my collarbones. My chest. My stomach.
I need those hands on my body.
I need one more time pressed against him—just in case he doesn't keep loving me.
Just in case he runs away.
I pull back with a heavy sigh. My eyes go straight to his. Brendon, I have to tell you something.
It's been eating at me for weeks. Longer even. I wanted to tell him when it happened. I wanted to tell him the first time I had an ugly thought.
I want him to save me from it.
I know it doesn't work that way. I get it now. But there's still a part of me that thinks he can wipe everything away.
No, I know he can.
Just only for a little while.
"You're thinking something." His fingertips skim my jawline.