Page 63 of The Faking Game

It’s quick, brief. I pull back quickly, but he doesn’t follow. He stands stock-still, just like he promised me he would.

I’ve never, ever been able to do this before.

I kiss him again. Warm, dry lips against mine. It sends little thrills of energy shooting through me.West.I’m kissingWest.He doesn’t move, doesn’t kiss me back. But beneath my hands, his shoulders are tense.

“This is so… interesting,” I say.

West gives a tight, huffed laugh against my lips. “Good.”

“Can I keep going?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

I press my lips more firmly against his. I tilt my head, and his lips move gently against mine. Just following my pace. Not pressing, pushing, invading.

It’s better than just nice. Heat spreads through me from that warm press of his mouth. I walk my fingers back to the edge of his shirt. Find the smooth skin of the back of his neck. The short strands of his hair tickle my fingers.

I pull back an inch. His eyes are closed, and he takes a deep breath before opening them. They’re a dark amber now, and when they meet mine, we’re closer than we’ve ever been.

His body is tense under my hands.

“Was that okay?” I ask him.

“Yes.” His voice is low, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “You’re doing so good.”

I wind my fingers through his hair. “You keep telling me that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“It’s not because I told you that I find compliments hard?”

His gaze drops down to my lips, and he swallows hard. “No. I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“Really? Maybe you’re just doing it to make my lessons easier.” I shift closer. Drawn to touching him just one more time. “Is it okay if I try again?”

His jaw flexes. “Yes.”

I kiss him more confidently this time. I’ve never realized just how nice this can be, when I’m fully present in the moment. To know that I can pull back when I want, deepen it when I want. There’s no hand moving to suddenly touch my ass, no tongue about to thrust into mine.

It’s just sensations. His warmth. His taste. His lips move against mine in a faint mimic of my own pace, and I lose myself in a way I never have before. Forget the expectations. My fingers thread through the short hair at his nape, and a tremor runs through him.

I touch my tongue lightly to his bottom lip. He groans, and the sound travels to my stomach, hooks inside me.

His lips part. Inviting me in, if I want to.

Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do anyway, because I have to have more of him. So I deepen the kiss. He’s hot against me, and when his own tongue brushes mine, it’s like something sparks inside me. Electricity, or maybe a crashing wave. Something that surprises and thrills.

He tastes minty and warm and like himself somehow. I trail my fingers down the side of his neck and feel the strong, fast pulse there. Is he affected too? Or am I alone in wanting?

I break off and drop back down on my heels. West’s eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. My breath is coming fast, but he looks like he’s barely breathing. Like he’s made of stone.

I just kissed West Calloway.

Was it supposed to feel that good?

My body feels tingly, and my cheeks are on fire, and he’s looking at me like there’s barely leashed irritation beneath his skin.

Maybe he didn’t like it.

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