Page 25 of The Forbidden Summer
I lean in, closer this time, the air between us charged. “You don’t have to,” I whisper.
My breath mingles with his, desire crackling between us. His eyes lock onto mine, the dark depth of them searching, questioning, but also—wanting. I feel it in every beat of my heart, the unspoken connection that’s been simmering between us for weeks, maybe longer.
When my lips finally brush against his, it’s soft—barely a touch at first. But the spark it ignites sends a rush of heat through me, a longing that makes my chest tighten. I can taste him, the warmth of his lips, the fleeting sensation of what could be.
I lean in more, my hand finding its way to the back of his neck, pulling him just that little bit closer, hoping, craving for more.
The feel of his lips is as familiar as the rest of him.
But then Père pulls back, just enough to break the kiss. His breath is ragged, his eyes dark and heavy.
“Van,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “We should... we should stop.” His hand lingers near my face, like he's fighting the urge to touch me again, to let this thing explode between us. But his resolve holds.
I feel the disappointment flood through me, but it’s quickly replaced by something else—something that makes me respect him more than ever. “Alright,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, feeling that same fire still burning between us, waiting.
Père exhales, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Let’s call it a night, yeah? Before we both get in too deep.”
I’m dying to get in too deep! I want to drown myself in him.
But instead, I nod, unable to find the words to express the way my heart is racing, the way I can’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way I’ll never forget the heat of it. I can still feel his presence, the memory of his lips lingering on mine, and I know this is far from over. It’s the only reason I can let him go now.
My chest heaves as Père pulls back, his eyes filled with sadness, and maybe relief? Maybe a little bit of both.
“Van…” His voice is low, almost apologetic, but also heavy with something deeper. “I don’t want to do anything we’re not ready for.”
I can’t help but laugh softly, though the sound is tight in my throat. “I’m not going to force you into anything, Père,” I say,trying to sound lighthearted, though there’s an ache in my chest I can’t quite ignore.
His eyes flick up to mine, and there’s an intensity there, like he’s trying to figure me out. His hand trembles slightly as he runs it down the side of his face. “You don’t make it easy, you know that?” His words are like a confession, a mixture of frustration and something else. Longing? Desire? It’s hard to say.
“I’m not trying to.” I take a cautious step forward, and his body tenses at the movement, like he’s unsure whether he should pull away or lean in. “But if it helps… I want this too, Père. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and for a moment, I feel like I can see every emotion flickering in his gaze—fear, desire, uncertainty. “I know,” he says quietly, and then he lets out a breath, as if releasing some of the frustration that’s been building between us all night. “But we can’t rush this. We’ve got to figure this out. What this is… what we are.”
I nod, though there’s a part of me that wants to argue. But I know he’s right. Neither of us has been in a relationship like this before—not in the way it feels between us. It’s new, it’s scary, and it’s… complicated. But I don’t want to walk away. I don’t want to push him away either.
“We will,” I reply softly, my fingers itching to touch him again, to feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips. But I hold back, not wanting to push him too far, too fast.
Père glances at the door, his expression changing to something almost unreadable. “I think... maybe we should get some air. Maybe take a walk. Clear our heads a little before we do anything else.”
It’s the right idea, and as much as I don’t want to step away from him, I know he needs space. Hell,Ineed space.
“Yeah. A walk sounds good,” I agree.
We move toward the door, the space between us still thick with everything unsaid, but it’s a step forward. A break in the tension, a way to breathe. To let the moment cool before we dive back into whatever this is, whatever it will be.
The fresh air outside feels like a relief, the night cool against my skin. We walk side by side, neither of us speaking at first. I glance at Père occasionally, trying to gauge what’s going through his mind, but he’s hard to read right now.
Finally, he speaks, his voice soft. “Van… I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had to navigate something like this.”
I nod, turning my head toward him. “Neither have I. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
We keep walking, the light of the moon illuminating our path. There’s a calm in the placidity now, one that feels more comfortable than it did before. We’re not rushing. Not anymore. But there’s a sense of something blooming between us, something quiet and strong.
We’ll take it slow. We’ll figure it out, step by step.
But whatever happens, I know one thing for sure.
This isn’t the end. Not by a long shot.
