Everything about you makes my pulse race, I think as my heart starts beating double-time at her touch. “You don’t know me, Alice. You hang around me and you’ll never make any friends. I keep to myself and I’m kind of an asshole. Those girls were right about that part at least.”
“Lucky for me, good guys disguised as assholes are my favorite,” she says with a smirk as she rubs circles with her thumb over the back of my hand and I rub circles with mine over the back of her calf.
I know there’s a hole in these tights about eight inches north and my fingers are begging to find it, so I hold my breath and let them travel in search of it. When I brush bare skin at the back of her thigh, it’s pebbled with goose bumps from the cold but it’s still so soft. I’m watching her chest and shoulders rise exaggeratedly through her puffy coat, like her only job is to get maximum amounts of air into her lungs. “I’m not a good guy,” I warn as I widen my legs and guide her between them.
Her free hand finds my hood up and lowers it. “I don’t believe you. What color is your hair, Toby?”
“Brown,” I answer as my fingertips tuck inside the torn edge of her tights and my palm flattens against the skin exposed by the hole.
She runs her hand through my hair and it feels like she’s reached inside me and her fingertips are skimming nerves and bringing them to life. “Be more specific. Is it light brown like an almond? Or is it dark brown like chocolate?”
I don’t want to think about anything except what Alice’s lips taste like, but I answer, “Dark chocolate,” while I squeeze the back of her thigh.
Her breaths are coming quicker now, but she keeps up with the line of questioning. “What about your pretty eyes?”
I give her the most accurate description I can, “Seafoam green.”
She smiles and traces my forehead lightly with her pointer finger, followed by cheeks, chin, nose, and finally lips, where it lingers.
“Alice?” Her name tastes sacred and sounds divine. I’m breathless.
“Yeah.” Her response should be questioning, it’s not. It sounds like agreement. It also seems we’re in competition to find out who can talk the quietest. “Kiss me.” It isn’t a question either.
The air fogs out of her mouth twice before I release her hand and leg and cup her cheeks instead, coaxing her forward. “We shouldn’t,” I warn.
She ignores my warning with a breathy repeat, “Kiss me,” and follows my physical lead and leans in. One hand grips my thigh where it rests against the outside of hers, and the other finds the back of my head. Her touch is a gentle demand that makes me thrum with anticipation.
Tilting my head slightly, I don’t close my eyes until we’re close enough that our visible misty breaths tangle and I give her one final warning, “We can’t be together.”
I let my eyelids drop and touch my lips to hers as she repeats, “Kiss me,” a third time.
Her lips are soft and there’s no hesitation. She welcomes the connection like she knew it was always going to happen, like she’s been waiting for it.
The first kiss is slow as we test this out, test each other out, but I can feel her seeping into me while I fall headlong into her.
Goddamn, I love kissing.
Her face in my hands, I pull back ever so slightly and shift positions, my nose brushes hers as we trade sides. But our lips are eager to reconnect and when they do it’s rushed. My tongue glides along the seam of her lips, and her hand at the nape of my neck squeezes and urges me forward even though I have nowhere to go. But then she parts her lips and I realize I do and the possibilities are endless. When our tongues touch, the gentlest hum of satisfaction radiates out of her, and I decide there is nothing I want more than to hear that sound again.
Our tongues flirt. They tease and retreat. The reunion intensifies with each tangle until it reaches a fever pitch. “Sit down,” I whisper into her mouth because I’m not breaking this kiss for anything more. I pull my knees together, slowly forcing her out from between them and I expect her to sit across my lap. She doesn’t. Still facing me, she lowers, straddling me.
And I mentally chuck theWhat makes my pulse racelist and start a new one. It’s calledHow Alice ignites me. The hum in her throat when our tongues touch and her thighs wrapped around the outside of mine top the list so far.
I want more of her.
I want to explore her.
I want to figure out what else makes her hum.
So my mouth makes the journey toward her neck. A kiss at the corner of her mouth, followed by another feathered across her jaw. I’ve always been reserved, but not when I kiss. When I kiss, I don’t hold anything back. The tip of my tongue catches the skin just below her ear and that’s when the hum begins. It amplifies when I ghost a path slowly down her neck. She blooms into the contact and tilts her head back and to the side, handing herself over to me. Alice is the type of person who should be worshipped and I can’t believe that tonight, right now, that honor is all mine. The hollow indentation at the base of her throat invites me in and I kiss it before dipping my tongue in and tasting it. The hum turns into a moan when the taste ends in my lower lip dragging against her skin. Moving back to the side of her exposed neck I place an open mouth kiss, sucking gently and nipping with teeth, before soothing with my tongue.
Her hands have slipped underneath my sweatshirt and are flush against my stomach. The air creeping in over my bare skin is cold, but I’m burning up.
When my lips find hers again, it’s blistering. It seems Alice has a few tricks of her own and I let her take the lead. I was right about Alice’s kisses: they are intentional, detailed, descriptive, and thorough. My mind is spinning, yet I’ve never been so singularly focused as I am on her and the things she’s doing to me. Sucking my bottom lip in between hers, she captures it with her teeth and releases it slowly. The drag is delirium-inducing, and I’m pretty sure I just released a hum of my own. The impression of her smile when she kisses me confirms that I did.
“I like that,” she whispers and continues her blissful siege across my cheek toward my ear. Her tongue traces a loop around the hard, outer edge, and wraps up with a nip of my lobe.
I can officially cross the kiss off my list. I feel this one all the way to my soul and back again. Jesus, I don’t ever want it to end.
