Page 22 of Depths of Desire
“So…you’re thinking about it?” he asked.
“Trying not to,” I said.
But I was. Constantly.
He didn’t answer. Not with words.
The mattress dipped. The sheets rustled. His fingers brushed my arm, tentative, like he was still giving me the chance to stop this.
I didn’t move.
When I finally turned my face toward him, he was right there. Closer than I expected, his eyes watching mine, lips parted just slightly.
“Can I?” he asked.
I didn’t say yes. I just leaned in.
His mouth met mine, and everything else stopped.
The storm outside, the tension in my chest, the ache I hadn’t known was there until now. All of it melted under the press of his lips. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft. Measured. His hand slid to the side of my neck, warm and steady.
I kissed him back, deeper, letting the sheets twist between us as we shifted. My palm found his chest, and I felt the solid thud of his heart under my hand.
He broke the kiss first, just barely, his forehead resting against mine.
“I thought you said no touching,” I whispered.
“I changed my mind.”
We both laughed under our breath, our smiles brushing in the dark.
Then I kissed him again.
And this time, there was no pretending anything.
His mouth was soft, but the kiss had weight to it. Heat. A kind of slow, aching hunger that made my whole body pay attention. His hand cupped the side of my neck, thumb brushing my jaw, and I couldn’t stop the quiet noise that escaped me when I kissed him.
I wanted more. Not in a frantic way or in a way that needed to be rushed. Just more of this. His warmth, his closeness, and his heated breath washing over my cheek.
I shifted closer, one arm sliding around his waist. He didn’t pull back. If anything, he leaned in, chest to chest now, the comforter twisted between us like an afterthought. My hand moved along the curve of his spine, feeling the play of muscles under skin. He was warm everywhere I touched. More than warm, he was solid and alive.
He kissed differently than I expected. Not hesitant or uncertain. There was a focus in it and an intention, like he wanted to memorize how I tasted.
My fingers feathered along the side of his torso. His skin was smooth and hot to the touch. I felt the faint shift of his ribs as he breathed in deep. He didn’t stop me. He just mirrored the motion, dragging his palm across my bare side, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
It was almost too much and not enough all at once.
Our legs tangled. His thigh brushed mine. Every point of contact burned a little brighter. The space between our kisses shortened until it was nothing. Mouths barely separating. Breaths shared. That low hum in my chest had turned into a steady throb that reached down my arms and across my ribs.
I wanted to remember this. Every slow drag of his hand over my back, the press of his mouth to mine, open and eager and just shy of wild, the way he made a soft sound when I nipped at his lower lip and then chased the kiss again like he couldn’t bear the break.
It was the kind of kiss that made the world feel small. Just us, in the hush of a snowbound cabin. Just us, under the sheets, pulling closer like our future depended on it.
Pressing his hand against my chest, Oliver broke the contact for a moment. “Lennox,” he said, out of breath. “You should know, I don’t…” The hesitation made my chest tight with apprehension. “My life. It’s complicated. I don’t have the space for more than this.”
The pressure lifted off me instantly. I let out a laugh. “I didn’t propose to you,” I said, putting my hand over his in the middle of my chest. “It’s just fun. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Oliver waited a moment longer, as if to check whether I would cave in and tell him something fatalistic that would make tonight a mistake. I didn’t. He wasn’t interested in dating, and neither was I. Two single guys in a bed somewhere off the grid wasn’t a big romantic opening, and that was just fine with me.
