Page 81 of What You Wish For

But less sand this time.

We froze there—me looking up, him looking down, his chest pressing against mine, and his hands on either side of my head as he braced himself against the mattress.

“I’m afraid we’re hurting you,” I said then.

“I’m not.”

Time slowed down. Everything fell quiet except the sounds of our breathing. Everything slid out of focus except his eyes, which seemed to brighten and darken at the same time.

His chest against mine. His breath across my neck.

I didn’t look away, and neither did he… until he dropped his gaze to my mouth. And then, I just knew that he wanted to kiss me. I could read it in his expression as clearly as if he’d said it out loud.

Was it a good idea? Was it the right thing to do? Was it proper? Was it prudent? Was it even… medically advisable?

I had no idea.

But I could feel it was going to happen before it happened. I could sense his intentions. And I could have done something to discourage him, or distract him. I could have turned away, or started to scramble up, or pushed against his chest to get him moving in the other direction.

But I just didn’t.

Instead, I watched him bring his gaze up from my mouth, and when our eyes met, I held mine there, open and willing, and vulnerable.

And then he dropped his head—just as we’d both wanted him to—and he put his mouth on mine. And I pressed mine to his, right back.

And that ache of longing I always felt when I was around him?

The moment his mouth touched mine, it melted away.

Duncan’s kiss was all warmth—firm and soft and urgent all at the same time, and I’ll bet anything that mine was all those things back, but what I remember most was this impossible combination of opposites: it felt dangerous and safe at the same time. Shocking and soothing. Electrifying and relaxing. Impossible and inevitable.

Like we’d left the ordinary world and landed in a place where everything could happen.

And I just gave all the way in—and let myself be everything: alert and relaxed, awake and dreaming, lost and found.

He dropped to one elbow to free a hand to roam over my hair, my neck, my shoulder as he pressed, and pulled, and touched, and—I don’t know—exploredandexcavatedandignited,and I let him. I wanted to soak him in.

Until.

Duncan shifted position—and then he caught his breath and pulled away.

I opened my eyes.

He was wincing.

“Oh, my God,” I said, instantly pulled back to reality. “Are you hurt?”

“I just—shifted the wrong way.”

Carefully, he transferred his weight back to a better position, and his face relaxed a little.

I edged out from under him. “Oh, my God!” I said. “What are we doing? We can’t do this!”

“Just a cramp. It’s practically gone,” Duncan said, but his face was still tight. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” I said. “You’ve just had surgery—”

He snorted. “Cryosurgery.”

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