My brain short-circuits completely.
The concept is alien.
So far outside my reality, I can't process it.
My breathing comes faster now, edging toward panic.
W-H-Y?
"Because I want to," she says.
As if it's the simplest thing in the world.
She reaches up.
Slowly.
So slowly.
Giving me time to pull away.
Time to stop her.
I don't.
I can't move.
Can barely breathe.
Can only watch as she lifts her head from the pillow.
Her eyes drift shut.
Her full lips part slightly.
The first press of her mouth against mine—through the fabric—is so gentle it's barely there. A whisper of contact that rocks through me like an earthquake, destabilizing everything.
She's kissing me.
Me.
Her lips move against the fabric.
Soft and warm and impossibly tender.
Not demanding, not afraid.
Her hand comes up.
Cradles the back of my neck.
Fingers tangle in my hair.
I remain frozen above her.
Overwhelmed.
The soft pressure of her mouth.
