“Time makes things better.”
I tip my head to the side. “If you can’t enjoy things now, it’s a waste.”
“Maybe some things take time because they need it,” she says.
Her cheeks are already pink, and I’m not convinced it’s the magic wine’s doing.
The rain pelts the glass. The wind howls, making the window creak and whistle gently. These old buildings talk, but all I can hear is Raven. I can hear her heart. Not the beating but the aching desire, yearning for me, pulling at her.
I realize how close we’re sitting. Our heads bowed together, just as we used to when I’d spend the night in her room. Funny howher parents never minded that I was a boy. I think it’s because they knew about me even before I knew myself.
But do I know myself?
She wants me…and I…I’m struck by how earnestly I want her, too. The realization sits like a lump in my throat.
“Atticus,” she whispers. “All we have is right now, this moment.”
She waits for my reply, her eyes locked on mine, her features as rigid and still as a statue. Her gaze drops to my lips, and I feel what she’s feeling:You, you, you, I want you.
Her desire for me is so strong I’m overwhelmed by it. I used to think not being straight was simple. Instead of knowing what I was, I knew what I wasn’t. Or I thought I did. But this gravitational pull toward Raven is bending the curve even more. The borders of my identity have smeared, like water spilled on an ink drawing. I am attracted to her. Have been. Maybe I never let myself recognize it before, out of fear. Maybe it was never about what was on the outside to begin with. Maybe I want to be with people who make me feel alive. Raven and Dorian make life worth living.
My body warms as if I’ve been basking in sunlight while I look at her. Beautiful, lissome, brilliant. What if I want to touch the lips that speak a thousand tongues, to taste the wine as she tastes it? I listen for her thoughts, but they’re too jumbled to comprehend. Like whispers from another room, distant and soft, they mumble in my ear, and I lean in as if to hear them more clearly.
“I want you, Atticus. I always have,” she whispers.
Raven’s full lips part. I can see she wants me to answer, but somehow, I can’t seem to find the words. Love is a quiet beast, a poltergeist. It can convince you it’s not there, even when it takes you by the hand and pulls you in.
I narrow the gap between us, our mouths inching closer together. But Raven’s so still, I can tell she’s holding her breath, likeshe’s afraid that if she breathes, the illusion will shatter and the moment will end. I sense her fear, her anxiety, at finally getting what she wants. Me.
“May I?” I ask. The alcohol makes me feel bold.
“May you…?” Her words are strained. Her shyness is so sweet.
I smile. “May I have this moment? With you?”
My question hangs in the air between us, Raven practically vibrating with anticipation, the tension rising, unfurling, begging to be eased.
“Y-yes,” she stammers.
And I kiss her.
Her lips are tight at first. Then, as the second stretches and the warmth between our kiss spreads, her mouth relaxes. Her shoulders drop, her eyes flutter closed, and she lets out a wonderful sigh. Emotions rush as our lips press, like a cup overflowing, pouring onto the table. They wash over me, threatening to drown me.
She was holding herself back, but no longer.
All of the tension in her body releases when we touch.
More,she begs,more,as I kiss her.
I move over her, and her teeth scrape my bottom lip, tugging it down and sending a thrill of pleasure through my spine. She’s growing more confident with each second. She releases a small whimper of pleasure and squirms underneath me. Her hands roam my body, like she’s exploring, too, reading me like she can braille, cuneiform, carved graffiti in Pompeii. Her nails draw lines across my skin.
She pushes me backward into the cushions, dragging her tongue across my jaw, my throat, tasting my skin as her fingers undo my buttons. It’s so good.
Her thoughts in her own voice ring out, clear as day.Yes. Yes. Atticus. Yes. More.
I respond to her touch, arching into her when her warm fingers wrap around me. It’s like she’s the one who can read minds; she knows exactly where to touch, where to stroke, how to make me shiver. My hand cups her breast and squeezes it. I kiss her so tenderly. I don’t want her to stop. And God help me, I’m ready to explode.
And then I think about Dorian…His name bolts through my mind so fast, I actually gasp.
