Page 28 of Fragile

He hums, never taking his eyes off my lips, and I don’t know what to do with that. The dormant traitorous butterflies suddenly flare to life inside my chest, causing the ruckus I’d been waiting for all night.

“He wanted to kiss you.”

The air vacates from the room at a rapid pace and my lungs claw at my ribs. “H-how would you know? You weren’t watching.”

He steps closer, his voice low enough to send a tremor quaking through me. “Trust me, he wanted to taste you.”

Those big brown eyes fall to my lips again and linger there until I absently lick them. I can’t speak, can barely breathe with the weight of his eyes on me, with him so close.

“I fucked it up,” he whispers.

My immediate instinct is to comfort him, to say he didn’t, to tell him that I didn’t really want Alex to kiss me anyway. But I stop myself. Because the truth is, hedidstop tonight from becoming something more, and that was supposed to bemydecision, even if I wasn’t into it. It doesn’t matter—he still took that moment from me.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your date,” he murmurs, his voice thick with regret.

“But you did,” I snap, my voice still tinged with frustration. I see him wince, but I can’t take it back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping closer so our bodies brush. A wave of sensation sweeps over me, my breath faltering as his touch sends goosebumps racing across my skin. And before I can process the apology or the emotion flickering in his eyes, his hands are on my face, cradling it between his warm palms, angling me so I have no choice but to look up at him. My pulse flutters just below the tips of his fingers, and for a moment, the only thing I’m aware of is him, the intensity in his gaze. A gaze that’s full of something so powerful and potent that I can’t look away.

And then he leans in and the world stops spinning.

The soft and brief press of his lips against mine sends a shock wave through me—my entire body goes rigid, frozen in place, as though I’ve stepped into another reality. My mind stutters, trying to catch up with what just happened. Did he— Was that a kiss?

Miles pulls back, eyes wide, as if he’s just as stunned as I am. He doesn’t move, doesn’t let go. He’s staring at me—no, at my mouth, his own slightly parted, his breaths shallow, like he’s not sure what he’s done or how to fix it.

My heart pounds like it’s trying to break free. The whisper of his lips on mine echoes on my skin, the sensation burninginto me, searing itself into my memory. But it was so quick, so unexpected, that I can’t quite wrap my mind around it. Did I imagine it? Have I completely lost my mind, that I’m now imagining him kissing me when he hasn’t?

“Huh…” He frowns, his voice is hoarse, unsteady. He keeps his confused gaze on my lips, like he’s drawn to them, unable to tear himself away but he doesn’t know why. It’s the kind of stare that leaves me breathless. It’s like he’s waiting for permission, or maybe for me to stop him.

But I can’t.

Neither of us moves. The air between us is thick with confusion and something else—something heavier, something dangerous.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I know is that his hands are still holding me in place, grounding me, and I don’t know if I want him to let me go or pull me closer. If he lets go, I’ll never forget the feeling of kissing him, not now that I know what he tastes like, how he feels. I’ll forever be haunted by it. But if he pulls me closer, that means he chooses me. And I’ve spent my whole life being overlooked that the thought of him actually choosing me feels like something I can’t afford to believe in. Not yet.

In his eyes, I see the same hesitation. The same shock. The same lingering question.

What now?

I open my mouth to speak, but Miles adjusts his grip so his thumb ghosts over my lower lip, deepening his frown as he murmurs a gentleshhsound. Any words I’d planned on saying dissolve on my tongue in an instant from the feel of his touch. My breath catches in my throat, and my pulse thunders in my ears, so loud they’re practically ringing. His dark eyes glisten in the soft light from my lamp as he looks at me intently, studying me like I’m something precious or something he shouldn’t have.I wish I could melt into him. Take this opportunity to bare my soul and my feelings and let him know everything I’ve wanted for years now. His moves are slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of me, making my hazy head swim with notions of forever. I need to calm down.

But it feels like an impossible feat, when he’s here, holding me, looking at me likethis.

A soft breath escapes me, and it ignites something within him. His fingers weave into my hair, pulling me closer as his lips crash into mine, rough and unrelenting. Fierce and possessive. And my body freezes all over again. Reality slamming into me as hard as his mouth is. This is real. Miles is kissing me.

His hands tighten in my hair, pulling me closer with a growl, and I finally respond instinctively, my body molding against his. My fingers curl into his shirt, as if holding on is the only thing keeping me grounded. I kiss him back, pouring years of unspoken longing into the heat of the moment.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth with a sudden unrelenting desire that pools in my core. The taste of him, faintly sweet, floods my senses, and I’m lost in it. The world fades away—there’s only him. His breath, his touch, the heat radiating from him like we’re both on the verge of unraveling.

A moan escapes between us, and I don’t know if it’s me or him but just as suddenly as it began, it all shifts.

He pulls back abruptly, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp, as if he’s come up for air after being underwater for too long. His hands drop from my hair, trembling slightly, wild eyes darting away from mine. I watch as his chest heaves and he stares at the floor.

“Miles?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. Inside I’m shaking, vibrating from what was desire that’s now been doused with ice water and it’s left an ache in its place.

But he doesn’t answer. He takes a step back, then another, his eyes wide, panicked, like he’s just realized what he’s done. “Shit,” he mutters, his hand pressed over his mouth.

I try to think of something to say, anything, but nothing comes out. I can’t begin to process my own thoughts, let alone consider the ones he’s having.

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