Page 73 of Fall With Me
“Let’s do this.”
Chapter 34
Chloe
We finish our climb and an hour later, we’re back at Dawson’s snuggled on the couch. I’m curled up against his side. Dawson’s arm drapes around my shoulders, his palm resting on my hip. Queued on the TV isGlass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery.
“Random question,” I say, tilting my head back slightly to look at his handsome face. “What kind of puzzles do you like to do? A thousand pieces? Landscape? Also, when is your birthday?”
“That’s more than one question,” he teases. “Which do you want the answer to most?”
“All of them.” I’m not saying I’m buying Dawson a puzzle for his birthday; he’ll most likely get it at Christmas or as an “I’m thinking of you” gift. But each question is important.
“Any design. I’m not picky. Five hundred and above is good. March twenty-ninth.”
Puzzles aren’t my favorite thing to do, but I can totally see us five years from now rewatching favorite movies while putting one together after Finn’s in bed. “Thank you.”
“Any other questions you’d like to know before we start the movie?”
“Tons, but if we don’t start soon, I’ll fall asleep like last time.”
Dawson squeezes my side. “Yeah, but if it happens, we won’t have an eight-year-old screaming in our face about it at seven in the morning.”
“Are you asking me to sleep over, Smokey? You like to be scandalous.”
“I intend to let you leave whenever you want to.”
I want to say it will be never, but I’m too scared of admitting it out loud so soon. “I’ll keep you informed when the time comes.”
“Thank you for your consideration. Are you ready to start the movie?”
“Almost.” I sit up, shifting until I’m facing Dawson. Staring at his lips, I jerk my gaze to my hands in my lap, back up to his lips. “Do you think we could try kissing one more time?” I hold my hands out, palms facing Dawson. “We’ll go slow. But if you’d rather wait until another time, we will.” I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.
His brows shoot up. “I didn’t scare you away after my reaction in the parking lot?”
At the time, yeah. But since he explained why he reacted the way he did? Nope. All during rock climbing, watching his strong body work its way up the wall, only deepened my desire to kiss him again. “For a moment, but not permanently.”
In my mind, Dawson doesn’t say anything, instead he jumps on me, pushing me until I’m lying flat on my back with him on top of me, kissing me like the world is about to end. In reality, Dawson’s hand plays with the ends of my hair draped over my shoulder. His knuckles brush over my collarbone and a shiver runs down my back from the simple touch that’s full of anticipation.
He continues to run his fingers through my hair. The longer he takes to say yes or no, the more my stomach tightens and my lungs labor for breath. If he doesn’t say something soon, I’ll be the one jumping on him. Or leaving because I can’t stand what he’s doing to me and not being able to do anything about it.
“Dawson?” The way I say his name is a plea for the torture to end.
His gaze jumps to mine. He holds eye contact for one. Two. Three seconds. His pupils get bigger and bigger as desire flares to life. I raise my hands, ready to push him away, unable to have him look at me with such intense heat. Blessedly, he brings his mouth to mine.
His lips are soft and gentle this time. Almost as if he’s afraid I’ll break. But it’s the other way around. I’m not fragile. It takes all my effort to hold myself back from intensifying the kiss. From climbing on his lap and running my hands through his hair. But I refuse not to listen to Dawson and what he needs. I force myself to keep things tender and sweet. To concentrate on the heat of his breath on my mouth, the soft pad of his thumb running along my collarbone. The way this slow and languid kiss sends a flock of flutters swirling in my stomach.
As much as I liked the kiss by the car, there’s something exquisite about slowing down and taking time to let my feelings for Dawson heighten with this gentleness between us. Sliding my hand up his arm, I place my palm on the side of his neck.
Dawson’s pulse races under my touch.
I’m worried he’ll freak out again, considering how hard his heart is beating. “Is this okay?” I whisper against his lips.
“It’s perfect,” he says, kissing me again.
My lips are tender from the continued brushing of Dawson’s mouth against mine. I hope they’re raw by the time either of us is tired from kissing. I take that back. Ihighlydoubt I’ll ever get sick of doing this with Dawson, raw skin or not. When we’re seventy and gray, I really hope we’re sharing smooches multiple times a day.
The thought of a future, of having children with Dawson, doesn’t scare me nearly as much as it used to.
