He nods and smiles again.
My fingers rise up without thought, and I cup his cheek gently, like I’m trying not to bruise him.
“I’m not curious,” I whisper, voice steady now even though my heart is doing obnoxious gymnastic flips in my chest. “I’m not experimenting. I’m not trying to figure out if this is just phase bullshit or whatever.”
I give his cheek a small, almost reverent squeeze.
“I just want to be around you.” My eyes are locked on his because I am terrified and yet also disgustingly earnest. “I wantto spend time with you. I don’t know what this is yet but I want… you.”
His eyes lock on mine and I swear the air between us fucking shifts. There’s this tiny catch in his breath, like a low-key quake deep in his chest, and suddenly the space around us feels thick and buzzing like a live wire.
I drop my forehead, slow and deliberate, ‘til my breath ghosts over his lips. I want him to feel what’s coming before it lands. This isn’t some rushed, backseat, grabby-hand bullshit. This one’s different. Slower because I’m giving him my full focus and actually feeling every second of it, not just chasing release.
His lips are parted, soft and warm, and when I finally lean in and taste him?
Fuck.
Everything drops away. There’s no noise or space or anything. Just him and me and the slow, perfect press of our mouths syncing like we’ve been doing this in dreams for years.
The kiss is soft at first, like we're feeling each other out with lips instead of words. Which is funny because I’ve had his cock against my lips and this shouldn’t feelmoreintimate but it so fucking is.
It's gentle and almost cautious. Tasting him is like biting into something decadent I didn’t even know I was starving for until it hit my tongue. And Jesus, the way his taste lingers on my tongue is fucking addictive.
He kisses like he means it. Like he’s not in a rush to get anywhere else. His tongue just barely flicks out, brushing my lower lip in a tease that makes a groan rise in my chest.
My hands find his hips without me even thinking. Like my palms need to feel the heat of his skin through his clothes to remind me this is real. We move slow, deliberate, letting the heat build, letting it pull us deeper without tipping us over the edge.
His hands slide up to my chest, light and uncertain. He leans in that little bit more, choosing this moment with me.
When I finally pull back, he’s breathing heavier. His chest rises under my hand and his eyes flick up to mine, wide and open and not even pretending not to feel this.
“You gonna stay again?” he asks, voice lower than usual, scratchy like the words got scraped out of him.
And for a second, I think about it. About crawling into his bed, wrapping around him like I did last night. About the way his body fits mine like he was built for it. About that little hum he makes right before he falls asleep. About the peace he gives me without even trying.
But I also think about how raw this still is. How I kissed him, then hooked up with him and ran, then kissed him again. How if I stay, he might think I’m only here for one thing. He deserves to know it’s more than that.
So I lean in, press one more slow soft kiss to his mouth and then pull back, just enough to whisper, “No.”
He blinks and I see the hit of surprise. But I slide my thumb along his jaw.
“I don’t want you thinking this is just about sex,” I tell him, voice low and rough and way more honest than I usually let it get. “You’re not just a hookup. Not to me.”
His mouth parts, like he’s got something to say, but nothing comes out. So I keep going before I lose the nerve.
“You should get some rest.” I drop a kiss to his forehead . Yeah, I’m that guy now, forehead kisses and all. “We’ve got more time. We’ll hang out and spent time together when we get back to school. Just you and me.”
He exhales a quiet pleased sigh. His lips tilt up into a soft shy smile.
Fuck, he is so beautiful.
I smile, backing toward the door, my eyes still on him because I don’t want to miss the way he’s looking at me right now.
“Sleep tight, Jacob.”
He doesn’t say a word as he just nods, slow and wide-eyed, like he’s trying to convince himself this isn’t some dream.
22
