I turned around to face him. We were so close together that I could practically feel him against my skin, even though we weren’t touching. I drank in his warmth, his strength. “What would you, Noah, do when you kiss me?”
He framed my face with his hands and just looked at me, and his expression . . . I couldn’t have named it, but it felt soft. It caused a lump in my throat and made my limbs shaky. “I would be gentle and kind and patient for however long you needed it.”
My heart skipped at his words. “I think I like that one the best.”
And my breath caught in anticipation when he reached down and rubbed his nose against mine, breathing me in. The fear was there; I worried the fear would always be there. But it felt different. Manageable. It felt more like an echo than something I had to worry about.
Again, like he could read my mind, he asked, “Are you feeling afraid right now?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a yes,” I told him. “But, a little bit. Although it’s not like before. This is different. Like it’s changing.”
“I’m glad,” he said.
So was I.
“Come on,” he said, moving to take my hand. “You should be sitting down for this.”
I followed him but said, “Oh, should I?”
“Yes. I noticed what happened last time.”
When my legs had given out on Gladys’s porch? What could I say? He was right.
He led me to the couch in the library and sat us down close together. He was stroking my hair, almost like he was trying to calm me down. To reassure me that everything was fine. I was all pins and needles waiting for him to make his move and kiss me. To see how differently it would feel when he was the one to initiate, how I would react. Especially after all the positive affirmations I’d been doing. Did he know that I’d been looking forward to all of this? Maybe I should tell him.
“Can I confess something?” I asked him. “I thought about this while you were gone.”
“This?” he asked, letting his fingers trail along my jawline, over my ear, down my throat. Everywhere he touched he left behind a trail of goose bumps, like they were chasing his caresses. Then, as if he couldn’t stand waiting any longer, his lips replaced his hand, and all of my bones turned completely liquid. I was just a gelatinous mess, incapable of doing anything other than reveling in what he was doing.
“Uh-huh. I wanted you to touch me just like this. Kiss me like this.”
I both heard and felt his groan against the underside of my jaw. “Do you know how hot that is?”
“Saying what I want?”
“Yes.”
His mouth seemed to melt against my flesh, and I reached up and put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. There was this onslaught of sensation, the feel of his lips on me, his hypnotic scent, his soft hair against my fingertips. I tried to pull him closer. He was so good at everything he did, like he was a master musician and I was his instrument.
When he reached the part of my throat where my scars were, there was no hesitation. It was no different to him than any other area of my skin. He didn’t seem grossed out by it like I imagined a man would be. He didn’t even seem to care, which made me blink back some unexpected hot tears. It was just another part of me that he wanted to touch and kiss, and my heart utterly melted over his actions.
Then I kept opening my eyes to look at him, to make sure I wasn’t making this up. How could it feel this amazing? I tried exploring him with my touch, to follow the shape of his high cheekbones, his strong jawline, the cords in his neck, the way his shoulders flexed beneath my hands. But I kept getting distracted by what he was doing. Currently he was teasing the skin along my collarbone, and my abdomen tightened, swirling with heat and want.
He was enchanting me, using my body’s reactions against me. Not against me, against my phobia. And it seemed to be working. I wanted this feeling to go on, to expand. So that when he kissed me, it would be like this, only a thousand times better.
My skin felt pinprickly and warm, overly sensitized from his lips, and he was acting like he had all the time in the world to explore and enjoy me. His kisses were so delicate and gentle and swoonworthy that I had to imagine it would be the same when he finally kissed me.
Along with this fear/anticipation/excitement mixture I had going on, I was starting to feel frustrated. I wanted more. Even if it meant I was going to have what felt like a ten-minute-long heart attack, it would be worth it.
So worth it.
“Were you planning on kissing me sometime tonight?” I asked, and my voice sounded airy and desperate.
He pulled back, and the grin he was sporting reached into my chest and wrapped itself around my heart.
“I’m working up to it.”
If he worked any harder, I was going to be rendered unconscious. I didn’t know how much more of his teasing I could stand. “I think you’ve sufficiently worked up to it.”
He ran his fingers over my lips, and I trembled, closing my eyes for a second against the warmth that crashed into me.
“Juliet.” The sound of his voice, rough with longing, made me open my eyes again. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” I responded impatiently. “And if you drag this out any longer, you’re not going to get the chance to kiss me first,” I warned him as he put his hands around my waist, pulling me close to him. He leaned in closer so that we were breathing the same breath.
My threat seemed to amuse him. “Because you’re going to kiss me?”
I tried to say, “Yes,” but he swallowed up the word by finally, finally, finally putting his soft, full lips on mine.
He pressed against me, holding himself there for a second, hesitating in the moment, like he was trying it out but ready to pull back quickly if I told him to.
I had no intention of doing that. Those blue butterflies had returned, and they were everywhere, underneath every inch of my skin. They fluttered and sent warm, shimmery shivers in waves throughout my body. This was incredible.
Then he kissed me for real, his mouth sweet and impossibly tender, almost loving, but strong and insistent.
It felt like I was drowning in him, and I wanted to let him pull me under.
I made it an entire ten seconds before my nervous system freaked out. I tried reassuring myself, saying I was fine, but I couldn’t just mind over matter this thing. I wanted his kiss and hated that this was my response. Those ten seconds had been transcendent.
Because he’d been right—we both got to feel the same incredible sensations at the same time, and I loved that.
I pulled back and he immediately released me, taking his hands away and stopping all contact.
Which was not what I wanted.
So I put my arms around his neck and held him close. His breathing was labored and harsh in my ear. A second later his arms slipped around me and pulled me against his chest. When he breathed in, I felt the expansion of his chest, the way his heartbeat thundered against me.
All of this soothed me as I clung to him, letting this anxiety attack out and knowing that he’d do whatever I wanted, would support me in any way that I asked him to.
When his own breathing had calmed, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
I will be. I repeated the words in my own head. It was going to be true. I loved kissing Noah and how it made me feel during those precious ten seconds, and I was determined to keep doing it.