It was a kiss to remember, a kiss of goodbye.
Our last kiss. And we weren’t wasting a second of it.
My fingers found the edge of his shirt, slipping underneath it. Skin to skin, I dug my nails into him.
Needing more of him. All of him.
Saint stopped, pulling my hands away.
“We can’t.” He stared down at me with a look that certainly said we can.
“We have some time.” I reached for him again, but he caught my hands and pinned them above my head.
I liked where this was going.
Except when I leaned up to kiss him, he pulled away.
“It’s not going to be enough.”
“It’s all we have.”
He looked pained at my words for the briefest of moments before it dissipated, replaced with a guarded, yet hopeful expression.
“What if it wasn’t?” His words broke the silence that settled around the room.
“What do you mean?” I pushed up on my elbows, wanting to make sure I wasn’t mishearing, that I wasn’t putting my wishes into his words.
“What if we tried?”
“Tried what?” Spell it out for me, Saint. Don’t play with my emotions like this. My heart raced to the point of pain.
“To make this work.”
Butterflies erupted in my stomach, a mixture of excitement and nerves. “Back home?”
He nodded.
I blinked, reaching down to pinch myself to make sure it was real. I flinched. Ow. Yes, this was real.
But wait.
“How?”
Saint sat up, pulling me with him until I straddled his lap.
He pressed a kiss to my throat before answering, “We’d have to keep it a secret, of course, but I can’t stand the idea of this being the last time I get to hold you like this.” He kissed my collarbone. “Kiss you like this.” And again, this time lower, where he backed it up with a bite. “Or like this.”
“Saint.” My voice heavy. “Do you mean that? Do you really think we can?”
“We can try.”
Try and most likely fail.
There were so many factors against us.
Our age difference, how young I was. That was a lot for people to swallow.
The fact that he had known me my entire life wouldn’t sit well either. Even though nothing remotely inappropriate ever happened before my birthday.