T W E N T Y - S I X
Our lips had only touched for a tenth of a second when we pulled away.
We looked at each other, our eyes wide, our chests heaving as we breathed in sync.
We moved at the same time; this time, I felt like a starved woman. I kissed him, and he returned my fervour.
I leaned up, practically floating, my arms wrapped around his neck. His hands moved from the back of my head, down my back: his grip tightened on my waist, lifting me up.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he moved, pressing me up against the wall.
I hadn't ever kissed anyone before, much less do anything like this.
I followed his lead, my heart pounding with excitement or passion or something entirely else.
One hand was on the back of his head, while the other grasped at whatever fabric I could around his collar.
I held on practically desperately, melting under his touch, not wanting him to disappear.
His grip tightened on my waist, his fingers digging into my skin.
His body was flush against mine, my back on the cold wall, reminding me that this moment was very much real.
His hand moved up, tangling in my hair, and I wanted to never come up for air.
I didn't need it.
I didn't need it if this was what his lips felt like against mine.
He kissed me harder, and I returned his vigour, eliciting a low groan from him.
The sound made me shiver; I had practically dissolved into nothingness in his arms.
There was no coherent thought in my mind.
I was his.
There hadn't been any doubts in my mind about it.
But the way he kissed me, it felt as though he was reminding me.
I was his.
I never wanted to stop, not a rational bone in my body, but the sound of a honk outside pulled us back down to earth.
We pulled away, our eyes still as wide as before.
I breathed heavily through my parted lips; his eyes drifted back down to my lips and then he shut them.
He gave a discreet shake of his head, as though trying to calm down.
His throat bobbed and he swallowed; as though I wasn't still in his arms, he moved away from the wall, holding me up.
Once there was enough space between the wall and us, he loosened his arms, letting me get down.
His eyes were intense as he looked at me.
His hand moved slowly towards my face, his fingers brushing against my swollen lips.
Our eyes matched and he opened his mouth, his voice gravelly.
"How do I go?"
His question was rhetorical, and it made my face burn a brighter shade of red.
His thumb brushed against my cheekbone and he spoke again.
YOU ARE READING
Jakob Laurent was an intensely quiet, no-nonsense type of man. Callan Grant was a sweet, slightly eccentric, small-business owner. ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Callan needed to take some extra security precautions, but she could have never predicted that it would co...