Page 70 of First Impressions of You

In a quick move, I bring one my legs over him, straddling his lap and causing a deliriously gratifying friction right where I need it. Winter responds with an almost involuntary buck of his hip, and a soft moan escapes my lips, but he is right there, ready to swallow it. When his hands grip my ass to bring me closer, I want to melt into him. Become one with his body. I feel like I can’t get close enough.

“I can’t get close enough to you,” Winter echoes my thoughts, his words hitting me like shots of pleasure. Somehow they find their way into my chest, and I feel my heart grow in size, and I realize how much truth he’s put into those words. I see it in his eyes.

I answer in the only way I can right now, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck and kissing him with all I have.

One moment I’m on his lap, the next I’m on my back on the couch, Winter hovering over me. He deepens his kiss, the delicious taste of cinnamon and mint consuming my every thought.

Then, as quickly as it begins, it all stops.

Winter pulls away and sits back, his breath quick and short, his chest heaving and the obvious evidence of his desire straining his jeans.

“I…” He starts, but his voice sounds hoarse, gravelly. He clears his throat and tries again. “We shouldn’t.”

I sit up. “Why?”

“Don’t… Don’t look at me like that.” He cups my face, but the gesture feels like a consolation prize I don’t want. He drops his hand when I pull away. “Remember… remember what I told you at your house?”

“Wh-what?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“That first time. You accused me of holding back. Do you remember what I told you?”

“That you didn’t trust yourself around me?”

“That hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s only gotten worse. If we keep going like this…” His words are strained, as if he’s forcing them out when he really doesn’t want to be saying them. He rakes a hand through his already messy hair. “You make me lose control,” he finally says.

“Then lose it. Throw it out the window, for all I care.”

“Sunshine,” he warns me.

“What are you so afraid of?” I ask in a whisper, closing the distance between us again.

“I’m afraid,” he says, but his breath hitches when I bring my hand to his chest, tracing a path up to his shoulder then down his arm. I bring his hand to my waist, and he doesn’t take it away. “I’m afraid that if we do this, I’ll won’t ever stop wanting you. I’m already addicted to you, Sunshine. Every fucking day, I count the hours until I get to be with you. Being on that stage, getting to act with you is the highlight of my day, but even if we were working in fucking telemarketing, or doing maintenance for Movieland, or, God forbid, filing paperwork. Anything. I could do anything, and it’d still be the best part of my day if I were doing it with you.”

The way my heart responds to his words can’t be healthy. It’s beating so fast inside my chest, I’m genuinely worried something might be wrong with me. My brain is foggy, my entire body tingling as the butterflies in my stomach take flight all at once.

For reasons that are beyond me, all I can say is, “What about doing another kids’ show like School Highway?” I ask, referencing his answer months ago, when I asked him a role he’d hate doing.

He chuckles. “It’s School Hallway, Sunshine.” His hand slides down my leg, caressing my thigh in soothing movements. “And you got me. I wouldn’t wanna do that with you.”

“You wouldn’t?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “These shows… they are all family-friendly.” He brings his free hand to my face, and his thumb strokes my cheek, pulling a soft moan out my lips. His throat works through a swallow before he continues. “And there’s nothing G-rated about the things I want to do to you right now.”

“No?” I ask, my breath suddenly matching his, as he moves his other hand to my hair, gripping it with pressure. He grunts when I gasp, the rough sound shooting desire right into my veins, the place between my legs aching with need. “What do you want to do with me?”

His thumb hovers over my lip, never making contact, leaving the ghost of his touch and the promise of what’s to come as he moves on to my jawline, then trails up to rest on that sweet spot behind my ear. He plays with my earlobe as his other hand massages my scalp before tugging gently, tipping my head back. My hands explore the fabric of his white T-shirt without my realizing it. He responds to my touch by inching closer to me, our legs battling for room as we invade each other’s space.

“For starters,” he teases, bringing his free hand to my neck, his thumb tracing a featherlight touch over my already sensitive bottom lip, “I want to kiss you until you forget every other kiss you’ve ever had.” He brings his lips close to mine without touching. I feel close to imploding under all this teasing.

“Winter,” I cry out. My body is catching fire, and he has the extinguisher in his hands but wants to leave me to die. I grab his T-shirt and yank him closer, but he turns his face away.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “Is there something you want?”

Something I want? I want him to take me. Right here and right now. I want him to kiss me senseless like he promised, and I don’t want him to stop there. I want to rip his clothes off. I want to trace every inch of his skin with my lips and have him do the same on my body.

“Sunshine?” he calls me, that smug smirk painted on his stupidly handsome face again. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

I shake my head. I can’t.

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