Page 26 of The Words of Us

I kiss her back, slowly at first, savoring the way she feels—soft, inviting, every movement a careful exploration. There is no rush, no urgency, just the slow, deliberate pace of two people finding each other in the stillness. I can taste the wine on her tongue, the mix of alcohol and something uniquely her, and it’s intoxicating, heady in a way that makes me forget everything else.

Sasha’s hand slides into my hair, her fingers curling at the nape of my neck, pulling me closer as the kiss deepens. I can feel the heat of her skin, the way her body presses against mine, and it sends a jolt of desire straight through me. I let myself melt into her, my hands finding their way to her waist, feeling the soft curve of her beneath my touch.

The kiss grows hungrier, more insistent, and I lose myself in it, in the warmth of her lips, the taste of wine, the soft sounds of our breaths mingling in the quiet bookstore. It feels endless liketime has slipped away and there’s nothing left but this—just us, tangled in the moment.

When we finally pull back, breathless and flushed, Sasha’s forehead rests against mine, her eyes still closed, a smile ghosting on her lips. I can feel the steady thump of her heartbeat, the quiet affirmation that this is real, that we are here, together.

I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing lightly against her skin, and I lean in, my voice barely a whisper, thick with promise and the lingering heat of our kiss and I am brave- I say again what I said earlier. “Later, you’re mine.”

"Later is now," she whispers softly, her voice tinged with both challenge and invitation. The words send a spark of heat straight through me, igniting every nerve with a sudden, urgent need. There is no more room for hesitation, no space left between us for anything but action, desire pulling us closer, pushing us over the edge we’ve been teetering on all night. Sasha’s lips crash into mine, the softness from before replaced by something fiercer, hungrier. The kiss is intense, desperate, as if we are trying to make up for all the moments we hold back, all the things we haven’t yet said. Her hands are on me instantly, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer as if she can’t bear to have even an inch between us.

I can feel the heat of her, the way her body presses urgently against mine, and I match her intensity, my own hands roaming over her, finding the hem of her shirt and tugging it up with frantic, impatient fingers. We break apart just long enough for me to pull the fabric over her head, our breaths mingling in gasps, the cool air of the bookstore barely registering against the fire sparking between us.

My mouth finds hers again, and she kisses me back just as hard, just as needy, her teeth grazing my lower lip, sending jolts of pleasure and pain mingling together. There is nothing gentleabout it now; this is raw, messy, and completely consuming. Sasha’s hands are on my waist, pulling me closer, her touch hot and insistent as she slips beneath my sweater, fingers tracing the bare skin underneath.

I shiver at the contact, every nerve alive with anticipation, and I press against her, needing more, needing all of her. My hands fumble at the buttons of her jeans, the urgency between us palpable, like we are both afraid this moment might slip away if we don’t grab hold of it now. Sasha’s breath hitch as I push the fabric down, and I feel her fingers working at my own clothes, pulling at my waistband with the same desperate need.

We tumble onto the blanket, our bodies tangled in a mess of limbs and breathless gasps, the softness of the fabric beneath us barely registering as we reach for each other. Sasha’s kisses are relentless, her lips finding my neck, my collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Her touch is everywhere, demanding and sure, and I am lost in it, lost in the way she makes me feel seen and wanted and wild all at once.

“God, Evie,” she murmurs against my skin, her voice ragged, filled with a mix of desire and something deeper. “I need you.”

The words are a plea, raw and vulnerable, and they send my heart racing. I hook my leg around hers, pulling her closer, feeling the firm press of her body against mine. My hands explore her, sliding over the curves of her hips, her waist, memorizing every inch like I’ll never get the chance again.

I push her back gently, just enough to meet her gaze, her eyes dark and filled with the same need that’s coursing through me. There’s no time for shyness, no room for second-guessing. I let my fingers trace the line of her jaw, then her lips, and I kiss her again, deeper this time, tasting the urgency on her tongue, the faint sweetness of the wine still lingering between us.

She responds instantly, her hands finding the clasp of my bra, fumbling slightly in her haste but not stopping or slowingdown. I arch into her touch, the cool air meeting my bare skin as the fabric falls away, and the sensation sends a shiver of pleasure coursing through me. Sasha’s mouth is on me again, lips and tongue exploring, discovering, and I can barely keep up, my own hands roaming over her in a frantic attempt to give back every bit of the need she’s pouring into me.

Quickly, our clothes discarded carelessly around us. There is no thought, no hesitation—just the relentless drive to be closer, to feel skin against skin, to lose ourselves in this moment that feels inevitable.

We move together, every kiss, every touch frantic and feverish, fueled by the shared urgency that seems to consume us both. I can feel the rough edges of the books around us, the faint scratch of the blanket beneath, but none of it matters. All that matters is Sasha—the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she pulls me in and doesn’t let go.

Our kisses grow messier, more desperate, hands grasping, pulling, nails digging into skin as we give in completely to the pull between us. I can feel the tension building, the sweet, aching need that only intensifies with every touch, every breathless whisper. We are tangled together, a knot of desire and longing, and I don’t care about anything else—not the past, not the future—only this, only now.

Sasha’s lips find mine once more, and the kiss is so full of heat and hunger that it leaves me breathless and dizzy. Her hands grip my waist, pulling me closer until there is no space left between us, until every part of me is touching her, melting into her. We are a rush of heat and want, frantic and wild, and it’s perfect, messy, unrestrained, and everything I haven’t realized I’ve been craving.

As we move together, the world around us fades to nothing, and all I can feel is her on top of me—her thigh pushing my legs apart and pressing into my pussy.

I feel her right hand slipping down between us until her fingers are circling over my clit, sliding easily against me.

“Oh, Evie, you are so wet for me,” she growls in my ear before taking my earlobe in her teeth. I feel her repositioning herself- I think so she can take her own pleasure from grinding against my thigh. I feel her own slick wetness there. I feel her fingers pushing lower, pressing inside of me, opening me up for her and she begins to fuck me.

And fuck me, she does. In and out, increasing in tempo, fingertips pressing into my G spot. I hear my own moans tear through the air with the deep pleasure I’m feeling.

I feel her against my clitoris too. Is it her hipbone? The heel of her hand? I don’t know and it doesn’t matter.

It is overwhelming and consuming, and I give myself to it completely, feeling the tension coil tighter and tighter until it snaps, pulling me under in a rush of heat and sensation of my climax that leaves me gasping and clinging to her.

Seconds later, I feel her grinding hard against my thigh, taking her own pleasure from my body. Her orgasm tears through her with ferocity and she cries out, “Evie…”

My name on her lips as she comes is the sweetest sound before she collapses into me, hot and heavy and beautiful.

We stay like that, tangled together on the blanket, our breaths mingling, bodies warm and slick against each other. The bookstore is quiet around us, the only sound the soft, ragged breaths we share. Sasha’s forehead rests against mine, her eyes closed, and I can feel her heartbeat, wild and erratic, matching my own.

14

SASHA

The days with Evie blur together in the best way, each one a small snapshot of something that feels like a story unfolding between us, a slow, quiet rhythm we are both finding our way into. I can’t remember the last time I have been so caught up in someone—in their presence, their words, the way they laugh at the smallest things. And it isn’t just the big moments; it is the ordinary ones too, the quiet spaces between our conversations where we just are, wrapped up in each other like it is the most natural thing in the world.

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