Page 57 of The Prospect

I’ve kissed people. Several people since Green. Does that mean I felt anything?No. Nothing will ever be as comparable to my kiss with him. Sure, how much technique does a twelve and fourteen-year-old have, but that wasn’t what left such a lasting impression.

It was the feeling.

The feeling of home that moment gave to me.

My whole childhood I’d longed for it, and after moving from place to place, I knew I'd found it within Crawley, but when our lips touched for the first time I realized it was never Crawley that granted me that feeling.

It was Green.

It had always been Green.

“I just…” I nervously rub my hands along the fabric of my sleeve. “I hope I’m not rusty, that’s all. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Hart. After all, he sounds like he knows what he’s doing…”

Green pauses, pondering a thought of his own before he licks his lips and shifts his body so that he’s facing directly toward me. “Why don’t we test it out then?”

His suggestion makes me feel as though I’ve just fallen off this bridge—maybe I should? Perhaps it would knock some sense into my mind because there's absolutelyno wayhe just proposed that idea.

Kiss me? Again? Is he being serious?

“What?” Green tucks some hair behind my ear. “I mean, there’s only one way to rid yourself free from the rust, Haze. Besides, if I’m being honest, I could use some practice too. You’re not the only one here who’s a bit bent out of shape. This could be good for both of us.”

As my breathing slows, I know in my heart this is a bad idea. I know it is. When Green kissed me when I was twelve, I practically fell in love with him all over again. It tookyearsfor the deep ache of not being with him to subside, but now that I’m older—wiser, I know better than to let things get to me. Then to read any more into this. Green’s right, this is nothing more than two platonic friends kissing one another for educational purposes.

Christ, even that sounds ridiculous.

“We don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable.” My silence is enough to make Green immediately revoke the offer and I just about want to curse my name into oblivion.

Do you know how long I’ve wished for this to happen? Craved for it to happen? And now with it being in the palm of my hands, somehow I’ve managed to fuck it all up without saying anything at all.

Say something, Hazel.

“No, no, it’s just…” I lose my train of thought. “I wouldn’t want Amira and Hart to get upset. What if they find out?”

Green looks directly at my lips as he speaks, enticing me beyond belief. “They don’t need to find out.” He brushes along the backside of my palm. “If anything, they’ll probably thank us later given that we’ll iron out any of our kinks…together.”

Fuck.

“Does that sound okay, Hazel?” He seeks reassurance a final time as I run my tongue along my bottom lip in anticipation.

I’m nodding ever so softly before I can even hum out a response, “Okay…”

“Okay…” He smiles, using the breadth of his hand to tilt my chin upward so that I can reach his lips.

For a moment, rather than jumping right in, he hovers, allowing his breath to tingle against my skin until like magic, he presses his lips against mine.

This kiss is unlike how I once remembered it. This time it’s better—slower and way more passionate. Yet, as Green’s tongue dances along my bottom lip, it reminds me of the exact same feeling it unleashed before.

Butterflies.

The fluttering goes on for the Lord knows how long as Green entangles his hands gently through my hair, combing through my roots, forcing me to lose all sense of time. Frankly, I don’t care if I never see a clock again as his strong hand rests along the back of my neck and pulls me in tight.

I’m in heaven.

“Cherries,” I hear Green murmur against my mouth, yet his tongue continues to press against mine. I debate pulling back to question what he means, but almost immediately drop the thought, instead moaning out inquisitive, “Hm?” in return.

Green doesn’t break the kiss to clarify, he only prolongs it that much more as he slowly mumbles into my mouth, “Nothing, Haze…” We pick up our pace. “It’s nothing.”

As I live out this fantasy, I can’t help but assume that this is practically the definition of pleasure-induced torture, only the worst part? I know the second we pull away from one another, the likelihood of this ever happening again is zero to none.

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