Page 59 of Only and Forever

Our mouths brush, soft, once, twice. Tallulah melts in my arms, clasping my face as I sink my fingers deeper into her hair, coaxing her mouth to open for mine. My tongue strokes hers. I groan as I taste her, as our tongues meet, sweet, velvet hot, slow and tender.

I deepen our kiss, fuse my mouth to hers, take it the way I want to takeher—deep, desperate control riding the razor’s edge of abandon.

I’m not wildly experienced. She’s probably done this lots more than I have, but it doesn’t matter. That’s not what this is, abstract technique—it’s the simple rightness of her and me, our bodies moving, her hips rolling into mine as I rock beneath her, pressing my hand down her back, over the full, soft curve of her ass, until she’s tucked even tighter with me.

She knocks off my ball cap, presses up on her knees so my head’s no longer bent down to her but thrown back as she looms over me. Her fingers rake through my hair as she wrenches her mouth away from mine and kisses my cheek, my forehead, the corner of my smile, before she crashes back down on me. Tongues dancing, gasped breaths, moans and murmurs. I clutch her hard, my hands gliding up her back, splayed wide. I want every inch of me touching every inch of her.

We fall onto the floor, Tallulah cupping my face, my hands everywhere. Her ass, her waist, her hair, which I yank out of its tie, until it spills, cool water blue around us, turning the world dark and peaceful, nothing but us.

I’m so hard in my jeans, every rub of her hips is aching torture.She’s teasing me, feather-soft kisses to my lips, her breasts smashed into my chest. I can feel her nipples, hard and tight inside her shirt, chafing against mine. I want to push her onto her back, ruck up that skirt, and sink into her, feel her tight and wet and hot, wrapped around me, hear her moaning my name as I fill her and please her and learn everything there is to know about how to make Tallulah feel so damn good.

And yet. Alarm bells sound in the back of my head. My body’s getting ahead of me—both our bodies are. Just a week ago, we acknowledged that we are worlds apart in how we view sex, intimacy... love.

I know myself. I know that when I do this with someone, I need to love them, need to know they love me. I need that reassurance, that trust, that safety net below me when I fall from such a terrifying height, because there is no other option for me. I do nothing halfheartedly. When I finally have sex, make love, I’ll be throwing all of myself into it, and I sure as hell need love to catch me when I fall.

But God, does she feel good, smell good, taste good. She feels perfect in my arms, all her soft, delicious curves right up against me.

One more kiss. One more kiss, then I’ll put a stop to this. Of course, as I’ve made this resolution, Tallulah undoes me. She slows our kiss, deepens it. Her hips grind against mine and her breath stutters. A smile lifts my mouth against hers. I understand that sound, somehow know it means she’s close, she’s getting herself off on me, and hell, I am not far behind her—

Arf!

Romeo’s loud dog bark startles us apart, sends Tallulah scrambling upright, hands on my hips as she stares down at me, wide-eyed, messy blue hair, breathing harshly.

Slowly, I sit up, too, searching her expression for some clue as to how she feels about what we just did. I can’t read her at all.

She seems wary, careful. Slowly, she reaches for my hair, smoothing it back.

I clasp her wrist, stroking it with my thumb as I search her eyes. For once, I’m quiet, too. Because... what’s there to say? She’s made her position crystal clear. As I’ve made mine. They’re divergent, our views on what this is or could be. This is a battle I can’t win. But I’m too stubborn, too foolishly drawn to her, to withdraw entirely either. So here I am, pinned beneath her, yet trying to hold my ground. I won’t retreat, but I won’t push for more than she’s already given me. I couldn’t take her, of all people, responding to that how so many already have:

It’s too much to ask, to want, to expect.You’retoo much.

Peering down at me, she bites her lip. “Sorry. I... kind of kiss-tackled you. And then got very carried away.”

The reminder that Tallulah initiated this does great things for my plummeting mood. I grin because I can’t help it. “I already told you, there’s not a damn thing to be sorry for.”

Slowly, she slides off of me and stands, smoothing her skirt. Doubt creeps up inside me. Isshesorry? Doessheregret it?

Staring down at me, Tallulah offers her hand. I take it but hardly tug, using my legs to spring upright. She’s still so quiet, staring up at me, hands turned to fists by her sides.

Sheissorry. She does regret it.

My heart sinks lower and lower by the second.

Our gazes hold. I feel the tension in the room swell like a balloon about to burst.

Tallulah’s phone buzzes in her skirt pocket. Now that I’m fully aware of my surroundings, my senses expanded to their normal perception from their telescoped state, in which nothing existed but Tallulah’s mouth, hands, body, scent, I realize it’s been buzzing for a while.

Tallulah unearths her phone, frowning as she reads the screen.Her expression tightens, then smooths. I want to ask her what’s wrong. I want to wrap my arms around her.

And I have no idea what she wants.

She pockets her phone. “I have to go,” she says quietly.

Dread seeps through me. She’s leaving. Because of what we did? Because of whatever she just read on her phone?

I don’t have answers. I’m not brave enough to ask the questions that might earn them.

But before I can panic anymore, spiral any further, Tallulah leans in, reaching up on tiptoe. Her hands clasp my arms, and she pulls me close. Then she gifts me with the softest, sweetest press of her lips to my cheek, before she whispers, warm against my ear, “Best kiss of my whole damn life.”