Page 71 of Cream and Punishment
I snorted. Honestly, it could’ve been a lot worse. We could be covered in ice cream. I could’ve smacked his teeth with my hard head when I fell. It could’ve happened on my own, or with anyone besides him.
My hand still lay against his chest, the muscles warm and firm under my touch. And his heart… it beat rapidly. From the excitement of the couch breaking?
Curious and possessed, as if watching myself from the outside, I smoothed my fingers against his chest. Softly. Repeatedly. Like I could memorize the feel of him in this moment. His spicy scent and the chocolate from the ice cream. His breath feathering against my face. His heat and strength, how we fit together seamlessly. How only a matter of inches separated us. And how, when I raised my head to meet his eyes, his heart beat a little faster.
My breath caught in my throat. Thatcouldn’tbe a coincidence, right? I couldn’t be the only one feeling the static electricity crackle in the air around us, the profoundrightnessof this moment raging around us like a hurricane while we sat in the tranquil eye of the storm. Surely he felt it, too.
I searched his face for any sign I could, any proof I wasn’t imagining the pull between us. His eyes were dark and endless, and they smoldered like coals when I licked my lips. My breathing came quick and shallow, pure adrenaline fueling me until my fingers shook. His breathing matched. He hadn’t withdrawn, and neither had I.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered. All of the reasons I shouldn’t pursue him were dust in the wind, swept away in the storm around us. All my misgivings, my insecurities, they washed away, fading beyond recognition. And in their place, the desires I’d been burying surfaced.
“Max,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.
His eyes flicked over my face, pinging between my mouth and meeting my gaze. “Hmm?”
“I” —I gulped and summoned my courage before it could flee— “I want to taste all three swirls.”
His brow furrowed, and he cast a fleeting glance at the pint of ice cream in his hand.
Before he could move out of my reach, I shook my head. “Not from there.”
I reached up and placed one trembling finger against his lips. Air brushed past my finger in a huff as he closed his eyes at the contact.
“From here,” I whispered.
His eyes snapped open, darkening with hunger as they found me. Intense and volcanic and exactly the type of destruction I’d jump into with my heart on my sleeve and without a backward glance. His jaw flexed, and that blasted Adam’s apple taunted me with another swallow.
“I want your germs, Max.” I smiled shyly, the last of my cards falling to the table for him to see. “All of them. But only if you want to.”
“I—” His chest rose and fell, the space between us closing as I shifted closer. “I shouldn’t…”
I nodded, the heart I’d pasted to my sleeve bleeding a trail down my arm as I started to pull away. My stomach recoiled like I’d been gut-punched, but I tried my best not to show it.This hurts, and that’s okay.
Max groaned, and with a muttered “screw it,” he pulled me to him. His spoon clattered to the floor and his ice cream slid onto the coffee table. In an instant, his hand was in my hair and his mouth was on mine.
I leaned into it, letting out a contented sigh as our cold lips met. Reality blew every fantasy I’d had out of the water. It had been a while since I’d kissed anyone, but that didn’t seem to matter. We found our rhythm within a second. Push and pull, nip and tug.
Sunshine.
And chaos.
I drank in the moment as if it would be my last. His maddening scent. His arms around me, strong and sure andoh so right. The taste of chocolate on his lips. And, with another suck, peanut butter, peppermint, and marshmallow.
His hand brushed my skin where my shirt had ridden up in the back, and a moan escaped my mouth into his at the fiery pleasure his touch ignited. He pulled me closer, his fingers combing through my hair until the tangled mess of curls stopped him. He kissed me harder, not bothered by the setback at all. His fingers dug in, and he pulled me even closer.
I ran my fingers along his scalp until he groaned. But when I moved to face him head-on, he set me aside and shot upward to stand. His eyes were wide and still glazed with desire, his chest heaving with each breath to mirror my own. He ran a thumb over his swollen lips, and our eyes met.
“I’m sorry,” he panted. He backed up a step, both hands running through his hair to rest at the back of his head. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”
I blinked, stunned. We’d just shared the best kiss of my life—possibly of all time—and he wassorry? He regretted it?
“It’s not you,” he rushed out, backing up another step. “It’s—I can’t—I should go. I need to go.” Within a few strides he already had the door open. One last mournful glance was all he spared me. “I’m sorry.”
And then he left.
Before bed, I knocked on our wall, desperate to know everything was okay between us.
Only silence answered.
