Page 52 of If This Was a Movie

“I gotta get up really early,” she says in a near whisper now, but snuggling deeper into my shoulder.

“Mm-hmm,” I agree.

“So I should really get up and head to bed.”

I smile wide, listening to her try and convince herself to get up when she clearly doesn’t want to. Her guard might be up still, and she may tell herself she’s sworn off relationships in order to protect herself, but brick by brick, I’m working past that wall.

I know once I get there, it’s going to be fucking beautiful.

“All right, beautiful,” I say, forcing myself not to let her fall asleep here, since she really should get a good night's sleep in an actual bed, and I don’t think I’m far enough past her walls to be able to convince her to sleep in my bed with me, even if it’s just for sleep. With a sigh, I shift her and force myself to stand before putting a hand out for her to take. “Let’s get you to the cottage.”

For a second, so quick I almost miss it, she pouts, and it takes everything in me not to smile.

“Let’s?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s a dark and treacherous walk to the cottage. Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t go with you.”

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“I know that, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from these movies, it’s that you always walk a lady to her door after a date.”

She tips her head, giving me a glare.

"This isn’t a date,” she says as I shake the hand I put out to her, ignoring her. She stares at it before finally grabbing it, and I help her up, not letting go when she’s standing just inches before me, our hands clasped between us.

“It could be,” I whisper.

“Nate,” she whispers back, and I like that, my name whispered in that voice, a mix of hesitance, longing, and excitement there.

I step back, holding her hand until she’s steady, watching the quick flash of disappointment in her eyes and fighting against everything not to smile.

“Come on,” I say, stepping toward the back door but not letting go of her hand, not as I open the back door or as I walk along the walkway to the cottage, and definitely not as she uses her free hand to unlock the door, pushing it open.

“Goodnight, Nate,” she says, stepping away from me but not letting go of me either, like she wants to hold on as long as she can.

I should let go.

I should let her move into her cottage and go back into the house to continue planning how I can remove her walls.

But I don’t.

Instead, I let instinct win. I let my impulses win and tug her hand to me until she stumbles into my chest. I wrap one hand around her waist to steady her, the other finally letting go of her hand and cupping her chin.

“If this was a movie, I wouldn’t leave without a goodnight kiss,” I whisper against her lips.

Long, long moments pass while a million thoughts cross behind her eyes.

And then it happens.

Her mouth opens, lips brushing mine as she whispers, “Then kiss me, Nate.” Her soft hand moves up my neck, warm against the cold air of December in New Jersey.

I don’t give her a moment to second guess, instead leaning in the small millimeters to close the gap between us, pressing my lips to hers. It’s soft and sweet, nearly chaste.

That is, until a small sigh leaves her lips, until the hand on the back of my neck presses in, pulling my face to hers, until her lips part, her soft tongue peeking out to touch my bottom lip.

That’s when I press her back to the wall of the cottage, pinning her there and taking her mouth in mine. I let my tongue intertwine with hers, consuming her. I groan at the taste I thought I’d never have again.

Her nails dig into my neck now, and my hand on her waist moves down to her ass, gripping it tight and pulling her into me. She gasps again when she feels me through my jeans, her thin leggings doing nothing to hide my already hardening cock from the feel of her.

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