I want to have a conversation, tell her how I feel, tell her how I’ve felt ever since that day she crashed into my world, but the words won’t come. I don’t know if I want them to.
But that perfect mouth of hers keeps calling, so I do the only thing I can think of—cover it with mine.
A moan travels up my throat the moment our lips collide, and my arms find their way around her perfect little body. Ava’s mouth is soft, hotter than a brushfire, and tastes like cherry soda. I want to die. I want to live. I want everything in between with this girl right here, and most of all, I never want this moment to come to an end. Ava tenses for a second before relaxing. Her chest molds to mine, and I go for it. Our lips linger over one another, slow as a dream, then without hesitation, her mouth opens for me, and I’m inside her, probing, loving her like this, sparring with the softness of her tongue as the rain beats down its punishment over us.
After Steph died, I’ve always felt as if the universe was deliberately trying to halt any shadow of happiness in my life—and this storm, these sickles falling over us feel like just another hostile contention the universe is throwing my way. But it’s too late. My tongue, my mouth, my whole body is invested in this kiss, in loving Ava, loving this moment, and I am unequivocally, irrevocably, very fucking happy.
Runaway Train
Ava
Breathe. It’s the first thing that comes to mind in a moment like this when all of my thoughts, my heart, my adrenaline commands that I pass out cold.
Is this really happening? Grant’s arms swim over my back. His mouth is fused to mine as our tongues engage in an electric dance all their own. It all feels unreal, like one of my late night fantasies that just happened to harness the power to come to life.
My hands glide up his T-shirt and mold over his scalding hot flesh. Grant’s body is hard as steel, cut with hard lines and textures I’m desperate to memorize. A soft moan escapes me as our kiss grows increasingly feverish. I’ve never been kissed quite like this before. In fact, if you lined up all the kisses in my short lip-linking career, they would amount to a peck in comparison to this monolithic life-changing event. I’m pretty sure kisses like these are reserved for times of war and unimaginably long separations. I’m not sure what’s gotten into Grant—God knows I don’t taste an ounce of liquor on him. I’m sort of hoping this is real, that I won’t wake up on a tear-soaked pillow one more night.
Grant pulls me in tight by the waist, and I hop up, wrapping my legs around his like a vine. He hoists me up until I’m sitting on his waist, our lips never leaving one another. A bubbling laugh works its way up my throat, and his chest drums against mine as if joining in with me. The fury, the unbridled passion, the sheer joy of the moment eclipses itself until we climb toward some unknowable zenith. I don’t know how many of these impassioned kisses Grant has doled out in his lifetime, but if the way his fingers are digging into my flesh, the way he can’t seem to get close enough, deep enough inside me is any indication, then I’m betting this is just as special for him as it is for me.
Grant spins me, spins us as this kiss morphs into a dizzying carousel of love, and I never want to leave. I’ve never felt so light, so wanted, so much bliss rolled into one.
A peal of thunder goes off as the rain increases its hostile oppression. But the world could fill with water and drown every person in it—God knows I’d be one of them, this kiss is impervious self-preservation.
There are moments in life you inadvertently bookmark—a song that reminds you of high school, a perfume that reminds you of your mother—but from here on out, the rain will always take me back to this one magical night where Grant wished I had kissed him instead, and then I did.
A light so bright flashes. It feels as if a spotlight falls over my lids. I pull back and watch the night explode with the brilliance of afternoon as lightning sprays its crooked tendrils in the sky above.
Grant groans as he spins me one last time. “I’d hate for you to get hurt.” His eyes burrow into mine, and this time that perennial sadness mingles with something just this side of elation.
“By the storm or you?” I’m pretty sure I know what he meant, but a stubborn part of me demanded I ask.
His hair plastered to his head with those hazel eyes of his illuminated is quite the sight, and I can’t help but tremble out a laugh.
“Both.” The smile melts from his face as he says it and so does mine. “Let me walk you to your dorm.”
“You could never hurt me,” I assure him as I dismount, and he takes up my hand. “When you have as many walls up as I do, your heart is practically impenetrable.”
Grant ushers us quickly down the street, our legs carrying us far too fast to ever be safe, until we duck for cover under the awning of Hallowed Grounds. The lights are on inside, but it’s late, and judging by the chairs hoisted up on the tables, they’re obviously closed. Whitney Briggs is all but a ghost town at the moment, so I do the only thing I can think of right here in the middle of campus—hike up on my tiptoes and steal a proper kiss. Our lips connect, and I come undone, lost in a beautiful ache only Grant’s lips could bring.
Grant meets me there with just as much passion, the same aching fervor we shared moments before.
Owen skirts the periphery of my mind, and I brush him right back out. No way in hell do I want my older, far too demanding brother to ruin this moment for me. A thin thread of fear runs through me at the thought of kissing Grant so brazenly in a public place. Yes, the storm has offered us a shelter that would have otherwise made this very moment impossible, but all it would take is one person, the wrong person, and Owen will burst a blood vessel in his brain.
We pull away and marvel at one another as if we had discovered gold right here in the dark cave of one another’s mouths.
Grant’s brows knit as that ever-present worry reprises itself. “Let’s get you dry.”
“Let’s get you dry, so I can see if you’re really that good or if you need the rain to help with all those special effects.” And by special effects, I mean everything. I pull Grant along to the stairs, laughing so loud, so hard, my cheeks ache.
“Those weren’t special effects, sweetie.” His voice thunders through the cavernous stairwell. “That’s how I roll.”
“That’s too bad,” I say, panting as we hit the third floor. “I was hoping I brought out the best in you.” I give a little wink over my shoulder just before letting us into my dorm.
“P-p-please excuse my r-r-room. Clothes are strewn all over the place.” Dear God, I have a boy in my room! A boy who happens to be Grant! I don’t even seem to mind that I stuttered the hell out of that last sentence. “And look, my desk light is on, because, well, Lucky is right. I never remember to turn the darn thing off. She’s convinced I’ll burn down all of Cutler Tower one day. Lucky is a little alarmist, but she’s cute and doesn’t snore, so I’ve decided to k-k-keep her.” I touch my finger to my lips because it’s obvious I don’t know when I need to shut up.
He winces into me as his hands find their way around my waist. “You’re adorable.” Grant lands a sizzling kiss against my frozen cheek. “And you do bring out the best in me, Ava. I promise you do.”
I’m paralyzed by his words. My eyes drift to his chest, and I suddenly find it impossible to meet his gaze. I know the weight that those words have with Grant. He would never have said them if he didn’t mean it.
