I stare at him, sitting up on my elbows. “I should have known you’d be perfect everywhere.”
He fights a smile and loses.
“Can I?” he says, pulling at my shirt, and I nod, helping him take it off.
His eyes flare at the sight of my breasts, and then he pounces. With his hands on my waist, he hoists me to my knees and his mouth finds my nipple, his tongue worshipping the stiffening flesh. He does the same to the other breast, groaning. His lips find my tattoo, and he kisses it once before returning to my chest like he’sstarved. I’m tempted to say something funny, something to pull us back to familiar territory—something that feels like the old us. But we’re not the old us anymore.
My fingers travel south, circling around him again. His hand covers mine and squeezes, tugging harder, showing me what he likes. He kisses me. Voracious. A clashing of teeth and bruising lips. We watch each other, and then our hands.
Eventually, we sink down to the bed. I lie on top of George’s body, bare skin against bare skin, and gaze down at him. I know the wonder in his eyes matches my own. My hair falls in a golden sheet around us. It reminds me of being in a tent, and suddenly I can see it.
I’m ten years old, camping with George in the field behind my house, telling ghost stories. But then George traces my top lip with his finger, and that version of us is gone.
“You okay?” George asks.
I sit up, pressing my palm to the center of my chest. “I’m having a lot of feelings.”
George moves my hand over his heart. “Me too.”
His hair is a chorus of waves and curls and smooshed-down bits, and I run my fingers through it. The strands feel like laughter. George watches me, and then he begins to chart every millimeter of my body with his fingers—my hips, the small of my back, my thighs, my shoulders, and my elbows.
We get lost in kissing again, in exploring and touching and just looking. In a way, it feels like we’re meeting each other all over again. I map the ridges and valleys of George’s torso. I leave a kiss on his tattoo. I peer at him, and he’s staring at me with the silliest one-sided grin—a smile I’ve rarely seen.
“Frankie.”
That’s all he says. Just my name. But something inside me ruptures. I want all of George. I want to give him all of me. I want to fall apart with him inside me. I want our first time to bethefirst time. I want every part of him touching every part of me. I need him now.
I crawl back up his body and take him in my hand, my intention clear. George smiles softly, and then his eyes widen.
“One second.”
He gently rolls away and I watch him walk to the bathroom and bring back one of the romance kit condoms.
“You didn’t pack any of your own?” I tease.
“No.” His gaze slides down my body. “I didn’t plan for this.”
I hold out my hand as he climbs onto the bed, and I roll the condom down his length. He watches me, his thighs taut with restraint.
I pull him on top of me so he fits between my legs. Later wecan compete. Later we can race to the finish. We can try all the positions. We can pick a favorite. We can laugh. We can play. We can fool around until we can’t feel our toes.
But for our first time, I want this. Just George and me.
George positions himself over me, pressing against my inner thigh as his mouth finds my collarbone, my shoulder, my neck. He kisses the tender skin beneath my ear, and then his lips claim mine as we rock against each other. He pulls back to meet my eyes, and the significance of what we’re about to do ricochets through me.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“I know.” Of course he does—he’s the only person who could understand what’s at stake. “Me too.”
We stay like that for a full minute, maybe longer, staring into each other’s eyes as the emotions pass through them like a weather system.
“Everything could change,” I say. “I don’t want to lose us. I want you in my life always.”
“Always,” he says. “I promise.”
His hand drops to my hip, his fingers meeting my flesh with a question.
“Yes,” I whisper.
