"So, we kiss?"
"Okay, Dean. Okay, I'm ready. Should I just?—"
"Liz, please shut up. No one talks this much when they're about to kiss."
His lips press against mine, and it's sweet, soft, appropriate for the audience watching, exactly what a loving fiancé would do.
Then he sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, and the floor vanishes from underneath me.
My lips part on instinct. His tongue sweeps in, and I taste champagne and mint, and oh God, this is what kissing Dean feels like.
His hand cradles my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek, as he deepens the kiss. I fist my hands in his shirt because I need to hold onto something, need to anchor myself before I float away entirely … or melt into a puddle on the floor or crumble into dust.
Dean groans, barely audible, but I feel it vibrate through his chest into mine.
This is getting out of control.
I whimper into his mouth as Dean's hand drops lower on my back, pulling me flush against him. We're not dancing anymore. We're just standing in the middle of the dance floor, so close to tearing each other's clothes off.
Someone whistles, and reality crashes back with mortifying speed.
We break apart, both disoriented and breathing hard. In all the years we've known each other, Dean has never ever looked at me the way he's looking now.
Something passes between us. Something I can't name, can't read, something that looks too much like raw want.
That kiss, that devastating, perfect kiss that felt nothing like pretending.
Then I glance at him and notice something else.
His dress pants are tailored. Well-fitted. Raven black fabric that shows everything.
Like,everything.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Dean's hard.
Very obviously, very prominently hard. There's no hiding it in those pants, and heat floods my face immediately followed by heat flooding much lower.
I did that. My kiss caused that. That kiss affected him the same way it affected me, and this new knowledge awakens something in my body I've never felt before. Not like this. Not this sharp aching want that pulses between my legs and makes me press my thighs together.
Trying not to stare, I force my eyes away before he notices, but it's too late. The image is burned into my brain.
We go back to our seats, and he adjusts his position, jaw tight, trying to be subtle about it.
I look anywhere else. The dance floor. The ocean beyond. My plate. Anywhere but the evidence of what that kiss did to him.
I'm going to die. I'm going to actually die from wanting him and pretending I don't.
Around ten, we make excuses. Early morning tomorrow, need rest, thank you so much for tonight.
The walk through the resort grounds feels surreal. Fairy lights illuminate paths through the gardens. Other couples pass, heading to their rooms, wrapped around each other.
Neither of us speaks.
Every step brings us closer to my room, and I don't know what will happen when we get there. Do I say goodnight? Do we kiss? But there's no one here to watch. Our rules say only when people are watching.
God, I want him to kiss me again.
I want it so badly I can't breathe.
