Page 211 of Becoming Us
“What—”
I grabbed his hands and moved them to my back, pleading with him to do it, to take me.
“What are you doing?” He looked so adorably confused.
I choked out, humorless laugh. “I think it’s pretty fucking clear what I’m doing.”
“You just told me to stop feeling this way about you.”
I rested my forehead on his. “I told you I say things I don’t mean all the time.”
His expression didn’t change. “But what don’t you mean?This—or wanting me to stop liking you?”
His breath ghosted across my lips. So fucking close.
My heart had never raced like this. I had never felt like this—to be coming apart from nerves and butterflies and whatever the fuck else this was. Because it was about to happen.
This was actually going to happen.
I leaned in. He sucked in a breath.
His eyes flicked from mine to my mouth, then back again. He looked completely overwhelmed, but his hands kept pulling me in like he didn’t know how to let go.
“Atty, for fuck’s sake, come on,” I urged, cupping his face and tilting it toward mine.
I wanted it to be him. Ineededit to be him.
This was my last first kiss, after all. And I just selfishly wanted it to be him. For once, I wanted to feel like I was the person someone chose.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I begged, barely holding it together.
And then he did.
His lips pressed softly over mine, and my breath hitched at the contact—at the impossible electric impulse crashing through that soft point of connection. Suddenly, the music wasn’t quiet anymore; it roared back to life, Belinda Carlisle declaring proudly how this man had literally just dragged me into heaven.
I sighed into his mouth, answering every one of his kisses—soft, tentative, like he was still unsure. Like he didn’t know thiswas already everything. Nothing had ever come close to this. It was, without question, the best fucking kiss on the planet, and I needed more of him.
Tilting his jaw, I pressed my lips more firmly to his, hoping he’d feel it—this was his. He could have whatever he wanted from me. That I would never, ever stop him.
But he did.
He stopped. Maybe to process. Maybe to breathe. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I couldn’t let him.
I kissed the corner of his mouth. His cheek. Then back to those soft, inviting lips. He responded right away—his tongue brushing mine—and I welcomed it like it was oxygen. That first touch lit something up inside me.
The warmth of it spread fast, flooding my chest, my limbs, all the way to my fingertips. I leaned in, ready to devour him, to take every kiss he gave and turn it into fire.
His arms wrapped tightly around my waist. My fingers threaded into his hair and held on.
But he didn’t let me rush him.
He deepened the kiss just enough, slowing us both down before I could push too hard. And he was right. This—this was even better. I melted into him, another sigh slipping from my lips.
Then he pulled back again, eyes still closed, breath falling warm and shallow between us.
God, he was beautiful.
His eyes fluttered open, and when they locked on mine, it was like everything around us stilled.
