Page 77 of Once Upon a Boyband
I bite my lip and give my head a tiny shake. “You know who,” I finally whisper.
His voice is husky when he says, “Did any of your fiction ever involve a situation like this?”
“What kind of situation?”
He leans down and brushes his nose against mine. “You, me…close enough to kiss you?”
My heart practically pounds out of my chest as I close my eyes and take a long, deep breath. We’ve kissed before, but something about this moment feels different, like there’s a new vulnerability here. There is no pretense to how Adam is looking at me right now. His feelings are written right across his face.
“Not exactly like this,” I say. A twinge of compassion pulses in my chest as I think of my younger self. My awkward, insecure, lost self. “I always made up girls to put in my stories. Because something like this could never happen to someone like me.”
Adam’s expression darkens, the fire in his eyes turning molten. “Not until now.” He leans down again, his lips grazing across the skin at the side of my mouth, his breath brushing across my cheek.
The hesitation feels intentional, like he’s waiting, checking in to make sure I’m okay with where this is going.
The answer is easy. I arch up and find his lips with mine, my hands curling into fists as heat pours through my body, sensation filling me from fingertip to toe. Adam’s lips are warm and soft, his touch light as he releases my wrists and moves one palm to my cheek. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my hands against the back of his neck, and tug him toward me, wanting more of him.
He carefully lowers himself onto the bed beside me, stretching out on his side, and I roll toward him without breaking the kiss. This isn’t our first kiss, but it somehowfeels like it. Like we’re shifting into a different gear. Like every kiss is a promise of something more to come.
A kiss on my temple and I’m hearing Adam’s laughter, seeing his smile.
One on my jaw just below my ear and I’m seeing us together at the rescue, stretched out on a blanket while the dogs play around us.
On my lips, and suddenly he’s holding his guitar, singing to me and only me.
On my collarbone, and I’m sucking in a breath, seeing the family we might have together one day.
The thoughts should just be snatches of possibility, but with his lips pressed against my skin, they feel more like prophecy.
Kissing has never felt like this.
This contact,thiscloseness, is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.
We kiss for a very long time. Long enough that fire builds in my body, making me desperate, aching to have as much of me touching him as possible. I love the solid feel of him under my palms, the way his muscles shift and roll as I slide my hands across his chest, over his shoulders and down the dip and curve of his bicep. I love the noise he makes when my tongue brushes against his, the way he does not hide his desire for me, but I also love that he’s being so careful.
There may be fire, but it’s a controlled blaze. Adam isn’t pushing, he’s just…kissing.
Realizing as much unravels a tiny knot of anxiety deep in my heart, one I didn’t even know was there. I know what I want with Adam, but all of this is still so new for me, and I don’t want to rush.
Adam moves his mouth to my throat, placing a line oftender kisses along my jaw. “You stopped kissing and started thinking,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Did I?”
He looks up and grins. “You did. Are you okay?”
I lift my hand to his clean-shaven jaw, still not used to seeing him like this. “Yeah, I am. I’m perfect.”
He nods, his expression turning thoughtful. “Are you…” His eyes drop and he licks his lips. When he looks up again, there is an earnestness in his expression that makes my heart squeeze. “Are you okay with us going slow?” His fingers slide down my shoulder until he reaches my hand, and he presses our palms together. “I amveryattracted to you, Laney. Insanely,maddeninglyattracted to you. But I want to do this right, you know? Take our time.”
So basically, Adam Driscoll isperfect.
“I want that too,” I say. “That sounds perfect.”
“Good.” He grabs a pillow from the top of the bed and tucks it under his head, then he pulls me against him, nestling me into the crook of his arm, my cheek resting on his chest. I can hear the steadythump-thumpof his heart under my ear.
“I bet your stories were good,” he says.
I let out a little laugh. “Trust me. They really weren’t. My poetry was maybeokay.But the fiction—it will never see the light of day, and it really shouldn’t.”
