In the hours we’d spend touring around Lunenburg, he had proven through invigorating conversation that he was as smart as he was charismatic. Having his attention made me want to be a little bolder. It made me venture outside of myself and the reserved way I usually behaved.
“Favourite classic novel?” I asked him, watching while his brow creased with concentration as he thought it over.
“Lord of the Flies,” he answered, tossing me a dimpled smile that literally caused me to trip over my own feet. He laughed, his arms reaching out to steady me. My skin burned beneath his touch, and I grinned, unable to stop the laughter from spilling past my lips.
“Morbid,” I said, still smiling. “But somehow unsurprising.”
“Maybe, but it was the only classic novel I’ve managed to get through,” he grinned, pausing and looking toward the horizon. I followed his gaze, the oxygen stolen from my lungs by the beautiful orange and yellow hues of the sun slinking lower and lower in the sky, closer and closer to the bay. “What about you? What’s your favourite classic novel, Miss Books?”
“Jane Eyre,” I replied, turning my head, affixing on his peculiar eyes. I’d never seen eyes quite like his before; they were more breathtaking than the most beautiful of sunsets. It wasn’t fair that a male should have such beautiful eyes, framed with such thick lashes, but instead of feeling jealous of his eyes—I felt spellbound.
His lips twitched into another sizzling smile, and he cocked a brow at me like my answer had given away so much about me. “Is that the one with the rich selfish guy who wouldn’t marry beneath his station, or is it the one who locked his wife in an attic?”
“The one who locked his wife in an attic,” I replied, lips twitching with amusement at his summarization.
“Do you think it’s the greatest classic novel of all time?”
“That’s debatable,” I replied, pausing for a breath. “I haven’t read every classic novel. But it’s the reigning champion.”
“And what about it do you love so much?” he asked, his transcendental blue eyes practically glowing with warmth and interest.
“It’s a novel centuries before it’s time; it’s the embodiment of a strong, independent female protagonist. She was a nineteen-century feminist, and although she fell in love, she didn’t lose herself to it.” I replied.
Calum’s answering smile held enough wonderment in it to assure me that I wasn’t boring him. He seemed just as engaged by our conversation as I was.
Catching a stray tress that had fallen loose of my braid; his fingers brushed softly against my skin as he tucked it behind my ear. His hand lingered, his eyes losing their playful glint—but never their warmth. If anything, those deep pools of blue heated—causing a transitory reaction throughout my entire system.
My heart was racing, fluttering madly away in my chest. It continued to speed up as his fingers brushed against my scalp, and his hand flattened, his palm pressing against the side of my neck, his thumb and index finger caging in my ear.
I knew he was reading me, watching for some sign of protest—but I had none. I wanted his lips on me like it was critical to have them, and it was. I bit down on my lip, and moved a fraction closer to him, tilting my chin in open invitation.
That subtle movement was the only thing Calum needed to spur into action; his lips capturing mine in a kiss I hadn’t realized just how desperately I’d needed.
He was gentle and slow at first, tasting my lips as if I were a delicacy, a rarity. My lips parted invitingly, and he sighed a breath, dropping his free hand to my waist, tugging me closer before he deepened the kiss. Our tongues and lips moved perfectly in sync. Each stroke breathed life into the ache between my thighs, and the pointed evidence of his arousal pressing against me told me I wasn’t the only one suffering with want.
Calum Jacobs wasn’t my first kiss by any means, but he may as well have been. Kissing him was a full-body experience; my core tightened, my heart soared, butterflies fluttered in my belly, and time stood still. All other kisses before it paled, and even in that moment…I knew all others after would, too.
In a crowded beach on a summer’s night, the setting sun painting a background of warmth and potential, we were alone in our own little world. One that I’d happily stay locked in for hours.
My fingers fisted the material of his t-shirt, the kiss slowing into long, languishing kisses as he shifted closer.
Calum reluctantly pulled away, although his hand remained splayed against my lower back. His other hand still cradled my face, and his thumb stroked lightly against my jawline.
I blinked, trying to catch my bearings, trying to breathe through the ache between my thighs. It was almost painful, this desire for him, and so caught off guard was I by the kiss that had Calum’s hand not been pressed against my back, I’d probably have fainted.
The astonishing—albeit embarrassing part—was that wasn’t an exaggeration, I was so breathless, fainting was a real possibility. I didn’t need to raise a finger to my lips to know that they were swollen; ravaged thoroughly by him.
“Wow,” he said, his tongue darting over the seam of his lips, his gaze fastened on me like he couldn’t look away—like the kiss, and everything it evoked, had startled him as well.
The tips of his fingers pressing against my lower back, pulling me closer to him. With one word and the astonished, intrigued look in his eyes, he’d conveyed exactly what was running through my mind, too.
“I don’t usually kiss boys who aren’t my boyfriend,” I blurted, the words escaping before I could call them back.
“You have a boyfriend?” his brow cocked, but he didn’t release me. It was like he’d claimed me with that kiss.
“No, I mean. I don’t kiss boysunless…“ I trailed off, realizing how stupid I sounded. I’d meant it as a reminder to myself, not for him to hear.
But Calum grinned, bringing his lips to my ear, speaking directly into the shell of it, the warmth of his breath made goosebumps erupt along every inch of my skin. “I guess I’m your boyfriend now.”
