I know that.
I should pull back, make a joke, call this a moment of temporary insanity.
Instead, Ikiss her harder.
She shifts, the pillow falling to the floor unnoticed, and suddenly we’re tangled—her legs half-draped over mine, her hand curled around the front of my T-shirt like she doesn’t trust me not to vanish.
I don’t blame her.
I don’t trust myself either.
My other hand slips to her waist, drawing her closer. She fits against me like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Like we were built to crash into each other.
Her fingers graze the edge of my jaw, and I kiss her like I’m trying to memorize her mouth—every angle, every breath, every small, perfect noise she makes when I suck gently on her bottom lip.
She gasps.
And I’m gone.
She shifts, hips grinding against mine, and I groan—my hands tightening on her waist.
“Olive,” I growl, low and warning. Whether it’s meant for her or for me, I honestly don’t know.
Her hoodie bunches beneath my fingers. I’m not trying to undress her. Not yet. But my palms are hungry to learn the shape of her—soft in ways that undo me.
Curves. Warmth. Pure chaos wrapped up in a girl who still thinks I’m someone safe.
God help me.
I want her.
Her hand slides up my chest, curls around the back of my neck. Fingers tangle in my hair.
I kiss her again—deeper this time, slower. Her tongue brushes mine, tentative at first… then bold. Like she’s done pretending she doesn’t want this too.
I groaninto her mouth.
She pulls back just enough, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine.
Her eyes are dark and wild. Her cheeks flushed.
Her breath ghosts over my skin as she whispers, “Take off my shirt.”
I want to. I fuckingwantto. She has no idea.
But instead, I kiss her like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
3
OLIVE
A Rockstar’s Kiss
His mouth is on mine and I can’t remember how breathing works.
One second I’m arguing with him, and the next, I’m pressed against him on the couch—one hand fisted in the front of his T-shirt, the other braced on his shoulder like I’m afraid I might fall.
I don’t know who kissed who first. Maybe it doesn’t matter. All I know is his lips are warm and his hands are on my waist and he’s kissing me like I’m something he didn’t realize he was starving for until now.
