“You don’t mean that.”
Claire smiled teasingly. “I’m a nun,” she said. “I’m not allowed to lie.”
Something inside Mirela broke open. Her hand slid from Claire’s cheek to her waist, holding her close.
Claire’s breath trembled as she leaned forward, her eyes flicking from Mirela’s mouth to her eyes, and back again. Mirela didn’t move, scared that she might ruin whatever was about to happen, scared that Claire might truly see something wrong with her and run away. But instead, Claire leaned closer, her hands now softly gripping the hairs on the base of her head, her breath warm against her face.
She moved closer, close enough for Mirela to see all the details about her face, her eyebrows, the line at her mouth, the shape of her nose, the way her eyelids closed before she moved even closer…
“Do you want to kiss me?”
Mirela had not realized she had been staring at Claire’s mouth until the question pulled her back into herself—entranced by the way her lips curved and parted when she spoke, by their soft, inviting color. Mirela wanted to kiss her so badly it physically hurt. And yet the desire tangled with fear.
Claire deserved grace and confidence. She deserved someone who knew how to touch her, how to kiss her,how to make her feel wanted. Not a woman who trembled at the thought of doing it wrong.
“Mirela?”
“Yes,” she blurted before doubt could swallow the moment. Her hand found the curve of Claire’s waist. “I do. I want to kiss you.”
Claire’s smile widened. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Courage. Permission.Or she was waiting for the right moment? Mirela didn’t know. She only knew she could not wait any longer.
She barely noticed when Claire’s hand slid into her hair, drawing her closer.
“I want to kiss you too,” Claire murmured, moving in over her until their lips touched.
Chapter nine
Claire
Clairebaskedinthewarmth of Mirela’s lips. They were softer than she ever imagined, plump and malleable under the exploration of her own. They trembled hopefully, not in fear but with want. Her breath was warm, sweet, and so inviting, Claire couldn’t help but move over her, slotting her mouth with hers.
Mirela squeezed her waist, earning a soft gasp from her. Claire pulled back just enough to see her face. Mirela’s eyes were half-open, her lips parted, her breath quick and shallow. As Mirela stared at her, there was nothing in her eyes resembling regret, only wonder and a flash of need.
“Mirela?”
“I’ve…” she shook her head, as if trying to dissipate the fog keeping her from thinking straight. “I’ve never kissed anyone…”
Claire wasn’t surprised; she was actually relieved and truly enjoyed being Mirela’s first.
Mirela’s hands inched up her waist, her face a mixture of embarrassment and disappointment. “I am sorry—“
“Don’t be.” She smiled again, her stomach clenching. She wiped Mirela’s lower lip with her thumb before moving closer. “Do what you think feels right.”
“But what if you don’t like it?”
“I will let you know, asyouwill let me know if you don’t like what I do, right?”
Mirela nodded effusively. Claire leaned forward and kissed her again, her hands gripping her red, unruly hair, drinking her in like blessed holy wine.
Her heart beat loudly inside her chest and head. Mirela’s grip on her waist tightened, almost bruising, but Claire didn’t mind it. She liked the way she held her. Her grip was firm, grounding, like if the world crumbled, Mirela was all that would keep her standing. Claire’s hands slid down to her shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath her skin, the heat that radiated through her clothes.
She pressed harder. The faint gasp between their mouths became a sigh when Claire’s tongue brushed against hers. Mirela’s lips parted hesitantly, and Claire deepened the kiss, tasting her. The most delicious soundescaped Mirela, and Claire decided she wanted to hear it again and again.
The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was clumsy, hungry, uncertain, but God… it was so freeing. Mirela tasted of wine and heat, and Claire decided right there that she couldn’t get enough. Claire shuddered. She hadn’t meant to moan, but the sound escaped her anyway.
When she finally drew back, her lips were tingling, her heart hammering so loudly it echoed in her ears. Mirela’s hands now clung to her hips, as if letting go would make her disappear. Her eyes were half-closed, her lashes trembling against flushed cheeks.
