He’s so cute like this, all sleep-rumpled, that I can’t help leaning forward to kiss him.
Our kiss starts off soft, just a gentle press of lips. It’s almost careful, like we’re both checking that last night wasn’t some shared hallucination.
Then Nick shifts, tilting his head to change the angle, and the kiss shifts from sweet to hotin about half a second. His tongue brushes my lower lip, and I open for him immediately, my hand sliding up to cradle the side of his face, thumb against his cheekbone.
He tastes like stale coffee and sleep, and I should not find that as hot as I do, but here we are.
He presses into me. I can feel the warmth of his stomach against mine, where both our shirts have ridden up. Just that strip of skin. It’s obscene how much that strip of skin affects me.
I grip his hip and pull him tighter against me, and he responds by rolling his whole body into mine in this slow, deliberate wave that makes the bed creak and my vision go slightly unfocused.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I can’t believe I’m kissing Anthony Devine when I’ve got morning breath,” he says.
“We’ve both got morning breath, so I’m sure they cancel each other out.”
“I’m not sure if that principle has any scientific merit behind it,” he says, but I shut him up with another kiss.
This time, the kiss heats up so fast I’m dizzy with it. Nick’s hands are under my shirt, mine are in his hair.
He tugs at my T-shirt, pulling me onto him, and I go—carefully, because this bed feels like it could collapse at any moment. Nick doesn’t seem concerned about structural integrity though. His legs bracket my hips, and his hands slide to my shoulders, gripping the muscle there, thumbs pressing into my collarbones in a way that sends a jolt down my spine to somewhere significantly lower.
I drop my mouth to the hollow of his throat, and his head falls back against the pillow, fingers curling against my shoulders.
I want him so much that it’s actually embarrassing. I’ve written entire albums about desire, and I’ve never felt it like this—this full-body pull toward another person, like every atom in me has decided its new purpose is to be as close to Nick as physically possible.
“What happened to slow?” Nick gasps.
Fuck.
I peel myself away from him like I’m pulling against a gravitational field.
That’s right. I really don’t want to screw things up with Nick.
“We did say slow,” I admit, even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to shut up and keep kissing him.
“We did.” Nick’s chest is heaving. “That was very mature of us.”
“Very mature.”
“On the other hand…” He trails off.
“On the other hand,” I agree.
We stare at each other, both still breathing heavily.
“Okay, let’s think about this logically,” Nick says, which is hilarious given that he’s currently underneath me with his hair wrecked and his lips swollen. “Pros of waiting: we prove we’renot just in this for the physical. We build anticipation. Very romantic.”
“What are the cons of waiting?” I rasp out.
“I might actually die.”
I laugh, dropping my forehead to his shoulder. “That does seem like a significant con.”
“I’m just saying, if you factor in the health risks?—”
“Health risks?”
