All of Me

twelve • hands on

I want to let go. I want to trust him. But I hate the word actually.

Liam's grinning. He touches my cheek and I can't help the way it makes me feel. He has soft hands and, God, his face. "Of course I thought you were cute before," he says. "You're beautiful, Storie."

"That doesn't answer my question. You sounded surprised when you said it."

A deep dimple pushes into each cheek, those incredible lips parting a little to hint at his perfect teeth. "When I said you're actually cute, I meant you," he says. "As in, your personality. You, as a person, are adorable. You were rabbiting away about an ice cream sundae and your uncle and I just thought, damn, she's so cute."

"Oh." My cheeks are hot. I feel like such an idiot. "Sorry." I awkwardly laugh at myself and push a hand through my hair, silently cursing myself for overthinking every damn thing. I wish I could hear a compliment and accept it without questioning its validity. "Thank you. Sorry. I just get paranoid."

"About what?"

"I just find it hard to believe when a guy thinks I'm cute," I say. I'm laying all my cards out on the table and I feel ridiculously vulnerable in that moment, as the words leave my mouth. I can't spill every pathetic thought that plagues me. "Never mind," I say, shaking my head. "It's stupid."

"Well, you'd better believe it," Liam says, "because I'm a guy who thinks you're cute. Inside and out." He kisses me again and pulls away. "Does this count as funny business?"

I shake my head and can't help but smile when I pull him back. "No. This is very serious business."

I'm not sure what kind of movie you're supposed to choose when you're hanging out in a guy's bedroom for the first time and not trying to sleep with him, so I leave the decision up to Liam. I'm no good with decisions and there's too much pressure when it comes to what to watch: I hate giving recommendations in case I'm then responsible for someone watching a movie they hate.

Several minutes pass before we end up on his bed and he pulls out his laptop to load up a romcom, and at last I feel comfortable enough to sit close to him. My fear has melted away. All it took was his words and his smile, his touch and his honesty, and I don't tense up when he puts his arm around my shoulders.

Twenty minutes into the movie, as Liam's fingers are tracing idle patterns on my shoulder, his hand slips lower down my arm and he nudges my cheek with his nose, and I can't resist his lips. I don't really care about the movie. It's hard to focus on the screen when all I can think about is him next to me, his arm around me.

No funny business, I think to myself. But that doesn't mean no fooling around. We can make out. I want to make out, and the more we do, the more I figure out what I'm doing. Every time we kiss, it makes a little more sense. I know what to do with my tongue now; my lips know how to move; my hands know where to go.

When he moans, my tongue buzzes and I can't help but smile. There's nothing to be scared of. My hand is over his heart and I can feel his pulse throbbing harder and faster, and knowing he's into it – he's into me – spurs me on. I don't know what I'm doing anymore when my fingers trail down his stomach and my wrist grazes his crotch.

"God, Storie." He lets out a dry laugh and pushes a hand through his hair. "I thought you said no funny business."

I'm not thinking straight. This isn't me. Embarrassment floods my body and I take my hand back, shifting away from him. "Sorry."

"I didn't mean you should stop," he says. "You're the one who said no funny business." He props himself up on his elbows and pushes his hair off his face. "Just so you know, I'm always down for funny business."