Page 26 of It's Only Ever Been You

“Different?” I echo, my heart pounding against my ribs.

He shrugs, his eyes dipping briefly to my lips before flicking back to mine. “Yeah. Like you’re here, but…not.”

I laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does to me,” he says quietly, his voice so soft it makes my chest tighten.

The air between us shifts, thick with an energy I don’t fully understand and can’t ignore. My pulse quickens, and I realize even more just how close we’re sitting—close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough that I can see the faintest hint of stubble along his jaw, the way his throat moves as he swallows. This is silly, we’ve always sat this close, this isn’t something new. Except it feels new.

He moves his arm from the back of the couch and rests it between us. His hand shifts slightly, his fingertips brushing against mine where they rest on the cushion. It’s such a small touch, but it’s enough to make my breath hitch, enough to make me look up at him again.

“Ethan…” I start, but I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

He leans in just a fraction, his eyes flicking from mine to my mouth, like he’s trying to decide something. His face is so close now, I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

Then, in a voice so low it sends a shiver through me, he whispers, “Tell me to stop.”

I don’t. I can’t. I think he’s going to kiss me.

I let the space between us disappear, my head tilting up as I lean into him. The tension snaps the moment our lips meet, and it feels like stepping off the edge of a cliff and finding solid ground all at once.

The kiss starts slow, tentative, as if we’re testing the waters, feeling out the lines we’re about to cross. His lips are warm and soft against mine, coaxing rather than demanding, and the tenderness in his touch sends a shiver racing down my spine. My fingers tremble as they find their way to his jaw, tracing the line of his stubble, the feel of it grounding me in the moment.

But then something shifts. A dam breaks, all the emotions we’ve held back for so long pouring out in a rush. His hands move to my waist, firm and possessive, pulling me into his lap until there’s no space left between us. I feel the heat of his body pressing against mine, the steady thrum of his heart matching the wild rhythm of my own. I also feel how… hard he is. And it does something to me. My hips begin moving on their own, rubbing against his lap.

“Emma,” he murmurs against my lips, the sound of my name low and rough, a plea.

I answer by threading my fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and the way he groans in response sends a surge of heat pooling low in my stomach. Making my panties wet. His hands roam, sliding up my sides, his thumbs brushing the curve of my ribs just beneath my shirt. The touch stirs something inside me I’ve never felt before—something consuming, electric, and undeniable.

When his lips leave mine, trailing along my jaw and down the column of my neck, my breath hitches, my head tilting back to give him better access. His teeth graze my skin, followed by the soft heat of his tongue, and the contrast makes me gasp, clutching at his shoulders to steady myself.

“Ethan,” I whisper, my voice shaky but certain, and he freezes for a moment, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes.

“Is this okay? Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint, his gaze searching mine for any sign of hesitation.

I nod, though my heart is pounding so hard I think it might burst from my chest. “I’ve never…” I pause, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. “This would be my first time.” I whisper and look away for asecond.

His expression softens, a knowing flicker passing through his eyes before it’s replaced by something deeper—admiration, maybe. “Emma,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” I interrupt, my voice firmer this time. “I want you to be my first.”

The words hang between us, heavy and meaningful, and after a beat, he nods, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles before he leans in again, kissing me with a renewed fervor that takes my breath away.

His hands slide under my shirt, his palms warm against my bare skin as he lifts the fabric, pausing for my permission. I nod, raising my arms, and he pulls it over my head, his gaze darkening as he takes me in. The way he looks at me, like I’m something to be cherished, makes the vulnerability of the moment feel less daunting, more exciting. He’s looked at me a million and one times over the years but never like this.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice tender, and the sincerity in his tone makes my chest tighten.

I reach for his shirt, tugging it up, and he helps me remove it, his skin is hot and smooth under my fingertips as they explore the planes of his chest and abs. The way his muscles tense under my touch, the quiet groan he letsout when I circle his nipple—it’s intoxicating, making me feel bold in a way I’ve never felt before.

He stands from the couch, with me wrapped around him and we move toward the bed. He guides me down gently, his weight settling over me, warm and solid and everything I didn’t know I needed. His lips find mine again, his hands roaming, exploring my body, while mine do the same, memorizing every inch of him.

He takes his time, his kisses slow and deliberate as he trails them down my body, his hands never leaving my skin. When he reaches the waistband of my jeans, he pauses, his eyes meeting mine in silent question. I nod, lifting my hips, and he slides them off, his fingers brushing against my thighs as he does. The touch sends a thrill through me, equal parts nervous and eager.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft but thick with emotion.

“Yes,” I whisper, and I mean it. Every nerve in my body feels alive, buzzing with anticipation. The way he’s looking at me—as if I’m the only thing in the world that matters—makes the moment feel perfect.

He leans down, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s slow but consuming, like he’s memorizing the way we fit together. His hands roam over me with purpose, deliberate yet gentle, as if he’s mapping out every reaction. Each brush of his fingertips sendsa ripple through me, making me gasp and arch beneath him. He doesn’t rush, savoring every moment, every sound I make. His patience only intensifies the moment, building the pressure until I’m on the verge of unraveling beneath him. And when he finally sheds the last of his own clothes, I can’t help but admire him, at the way he’s both familiar and entirely new to me at this moment.

---