My heart softens. I slide a hand down his arms, grounding me. Or maybe both of us. “You’re not.”
His eyes search mine like he’s waiting for permission and hoping he doesn’t need it. I lean in again, brushing my mouth against his. “Here,” I murmur, guiding his hands to place them at my waist. His thumbs rest just above my hips. “This is good.”
He inhales sharply as his hands settle. “Okay,” he murmurs.
The kiss deepens instantly. His confidence settles into place now that he knows exactly where he’s allowed to be. His grip tightens—not rough, just sure—and when I shift closer, he follows without hesitation.
When we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine, his breath uneven. “How’d I do?” he asks, nerves creeping back in now that the moment’s paused.
I smile. “Good.” His thumb stills as if he’s waiting for the rest. “Really good.”
He exhales, relief and pride tangling together. “You’re a really good teacher.”
I laugh softly, brushing my nose against his. “You’re an A-plus student.”
His smile turns slow and boyish—and before either of us can overthink it, I kiss him again. And this time? He doesn’t hesitate at all.
Nineteen
It’s All Fun And Games Until The Batteries Die
Miles
The moment her lips meet mine, everything else falls away—the lake, the breeze, even the dim stars overhead. All of it blurs compared to the softness of her mouth against mine. I keep the kiss slow at first, my hands loose at her waist, giving her space in case she changes her mind. She tastes like the evening air and cinnamon from the Fireball candy she’s been sucking on all day. Then she shifts. At first, it’s subtle—her knee pressing between mine—but my body reacts instantly, heat flaring low.
“Nora—” Her name slips out, not to stop her, but just to say it.
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, tiny gold flecks swirling in her hazel eyes. Then she moves again—this time swinging her leg over mine and settling fully onto my lap. The rough denim of her jeans presses against my thighs. Her weight settles there, and my breath stutters at the heat of her through layers of clothing. Every place we touch feels newly calibrated, my body trying to register pressure, warmth, proximity all at once, as if it’s never had to process so much information at the same time. It’s been years since I was this close to another person. Even then, it never felt like this. And it definitely wasn’t in public, with the world still moving around us.
Unsure what to do with my hands, or myself, they hover at her waist for a second before I drop them, palms flat against the ground.
Her hands slide up my shoulders. “Put your hands on me.” Her request is barely above a whisper.
I obey without thinking, sliding my fingertips over the rough denim of her thighs. “Okay,” I whisper.
The corners of her mouth tip up. “Is that really where you want to put them?”
I glance down, then back up at her, acutely aware of how badly I don’t want to mess this up. “I don’t know.”
“Put them on my waist.”
Slowly, I slide my hands up until I’m gripping her there, thumbs resting at her sides.
“Good,” she murmurs.
My nerves loosen at the praise. I didn’t know how much I needed her approval until she gave it, and now I want to earn it. She leans in and presses her lips to mine. My thumb traces a small arc at her waist, tentative, testing, silently asking a question. She answers by pressing closer, her forehead brushing mine between kisses, a quiet check-in that calms me more than words. Her hips slide against me. My body is fully awake now. Every nerve firing in rapid succession while my mind clings to a single thought: don’t rush this.
I pull back just enough to breathe. A few strands of her hair fall between us, and I gently tuck them behind her ear before resting my forehead against hers. “Are you sure?”
She nods immediately, brushing her nose against mine. “I am.”
That’s all it takes. I kiss her again. My hands stay firm at her waist, keeping us balanced. And for the first time, I’m not guessing what comes next. We’re finding it together. I slide my tongue against the seam of her lips, and her mouth opens a fraction. The quiet restraint I’ve been clinging to snaps clean in half. A low groan slips from my throat before I can stop it as I kiss her deeper, my hands tightening at her waist. Her tongue slides against mine in a gentle caress, unhurried but sure. Her fingertips trace a slow path from my shoulders to my wrists. Then she’s guiding me—teaching me—until my hands come to rest at the curve of her breasts. My breath leaves me all at once.
She breaks the kiss, lips brushing my ear. “You can touch me. And don’t be shy about making it rough.”
She rocks forward just slightly. My slacks tighten, heat pooling low in my stomach. With tentative fingers, I cup her breast and massage her softness. She fills my palms perfectly, as if she was made for me. She moans softly, and I file her reactions—the way she responds to pressure, to closeness.
“Is this okay?” I ask, my voice rougher than I expect.
