I tried to keep my eyes on his, but he was looking everywhere but my eyes. He was staring at my chest, my neck, my lips, so I returned the favor. I took the initiative and studied him. The scruff on his jaw had gotten darker and more pronounced even since Christmas. There was a fresh cut on his cheekbone, probably from a stupid dare made by one of the idiots he hung around with at school, and it made me want to touch him even more. His lips were red and slightly apart. I could feel his breath escaping in and out between them as it fanned on my face.
When I finally looked up at his eyes again, his gaze was locked on mine. His pupils were blown wide, and the whole world shrank to just the two of us, in that two hundred square foot room, moving in slow, uncertain circles. The scent of his cologne—a woodsy, not-trying-too-hard kind of smell—mixed with the smoky-sweet tang of bourbon made my head spin.
I wasn’t thinking, truly, not in any conscious way. There was no plan, no posture, no retreat. I just let my arms float up and around his neck, felt the familiar tension in his shoulders, and on an impulse that must have come from the most ancient, reptilian part of my brain, I rose up on my toes and pressed my lips to his.
For a moment—one or two seconds—he froze, the way a deer freezes when it knows it should run but can’t recall the reason why. Then, slowly, he relaxed into the kiss, his lips parting just enough to pull my lower lip between his. His left hand slid up to cradle the back of my neck, and the tips of his fingers dug into my flesh. I felt the shockwave of it in my whole body: a rush of adrenaline, a flood of heat. Adam tasted like whiskey and sugar, and then it was over.
Then, Adam broke the kiss apart and rested his forehead against mine like he was catching his breath or trying to say something he couldn’t. The air between us was thick with something wild and precarious. My heart hammered so loud Icould hear it in my ears. We lingered in that tiny space between wanting and having, with our bodies still close, our hands locked around each other like a lifeline.
“Billie,” he finally whispered, and my name felt like a secret.
I waited. I could taste our desire, jagged and electric, but I wasn’t going to lean in again. I’d made my move, the next one belonged to him. I inhaled a shaky breath that came out as a whimper, and it must have urged him on.
This time, he closed the space between us, and his actions were more desperate now. It was all heat and hunger. His hands speared into my hair, knotting and unknotting, pulling me so close it felt like my body was collapsing into his.
Without warning, he shifted his weight, hooking an arm under my thighs and lifting me, pressing my back to the cool plaster of the wall. My legs went around him on instinct, ankles locking us together. The skirt of my dress bunched up, and I felt the roughness of his slacks against my bare thighs. A thrill ran through me, a surge of want that made my skin feel alive.
He kissed me again, slower now, deeper. His tongue exploring me as his hands were everywhere—tangled in my hair, sliding down my back, splayed across the tops of my thighs. I let my hands roam, too. I traced the line of his jaw, the stubble there rough against my fingers, the slope of his neck. I skimmed his shoulders, then down his arms, marveling at the way his muscles flexed under my touch.
If there was a single moment I could pinpoint when my childhood fantasies crashed into adult reality, it was this one: the way his hands roamed me, ravenous and uncertain, as if he were afraid I’d disappear at any second. The way his lips moved, gentle then forceful, devouring every inch of my mouth and then my jaw, my neck, and the hollow just below my ear. He kissed like he was starving for something only I could give.
My own hands were greedy, too. I traced the line of his spine, the hard plane of his shoulder blades, and gripped the back of his neck. I could feel his heart racing against my chest, a wild animal caged and frantic. Every instinct told me to let myself go, to surrender and not be in my head.
He kept kissing me, deeper and deeper, his tongue sliding against mine, his lips firm yet soft, and I lost all sense of time. Our breaths mingled, sharp and shallow. Urgency overwhelmed me, and I bit his lower lip. He made a sound, a low, needy groan that sent a jolt through both of us. He shifted his hips, and I felt him, rock hard and insistent, pressing against my core, and it made me want to climb into his skin.
One of his hands slid down, finding my lower back. The other traced the line from my shoulder to my wrist, then took my hand and guided it to his chest. He held it there, like he wanted to make sure I felt every heartbeat. I did.
“Billie,” he said again, a warning this time, but I didn’t want to listen.
I kissed him harder, tasting his frustration, his longing. The world outside the pool house might as well have been another planet.
He twisted, and somehow we were horizontal. My back hit the soft wool of the rug, and he hovered over me, supporting his weight on his elbows. He looked down at me with a softness that almost hurt. A piece of his hair fell forward on his face, and I reached up, finally, to push it back like I’d always wanted to do.
His eyes closed, and I pulled him down to me and kissed him with everything I had. I felt his body shudder, and it made me bolder. My legs wrapped around his waist again and anchored him to me. His hands slid up my sides, fingers splayed, greedy for skin. He hooked the strap of my dress and ran his thumb along my collarbone, and I felt my whole body light up.
Every nerve was on fire. His mouth found my neck, my shoulder, the space just above my heart. I wanted him to keep going, to never stop. I arched my back, granting him access, and he seemed to lose himself.
His hand found its way between my thighs, and he made a sound so vulnerable, so unguarded, I almost didn’t recognize it as his. He didn’t rush, just cupped me through the thin fabric of my underwear, squeezing gently, then tracing his fingers along the line. I gasped, and he must’ve liked that because he did it again, slowly and with more pressure this time. I was wet and aching and desperate for more, but terrified, too, that this would all slip away if I wanted it too badly.
He kissed down my neck, each one hotter than the last, until he reached the top of my breasts. His hand was under my dress now, inching upward, and my whole body followed. I felt my own hands moving, too, up under his shirt, over smooth, warm skin, mapping the muscles I’d only dreamed about.
He groaned as his fingers found their way under the edge of my panties, and he touched me, skin to skin. I gasped and bucked up against him, every nerve alive and screaming. He grazed his fingers gently, and I felt myself unraveling, building toward something wild and sweet and terrifying.
He kissed me everywhere, his mouth never far from mine, but always coming back to it like he needed reassurance that I was still there. I was. I’d never been more there in my life.
A swirling pressure was building low in my belly when plates or glasses or something shattered outside. The clatter was loud, and the spell broke in one clean slice.
Adam froze. He paled, and his expression went from hungry to haunted in an instant. His jaw set, like he’d just witnessed a car crash. He was still panting as he pushed off of me onto his feet with ninja-like speed, face flushed, and hands shaking. I barely had time to blink before he mumbled, “Fuck, I’m sorry,”then bolted for the sliding door. The glass rattled as he tugged it open, the cold night air sucking in hard around my bare legs and burning cheeks.
I scrambled to sit upright, reeling. My dress was still bunched at my hips, and the top was twisted so I tugged it down and fixed the straps. The party noise outside was still going, but everything in the pool house was silent except for my frantic heartbeat and the distant echo of the crash that had sent him running and the soundtrack of my heartbreak playing.
I called after Adam, my voice catching. “Wait, can you just—” But the door slid shut, and I was left with my own breath, fogging in the sudden chill.
I stayed there, frozen in place, thinking he might come back, waiting to hear footsteps returning. Instead, the only sounds were the muted whoop of laughter and the steady tick of the pool house clock.
After a minute or five, I stood, straightened myself once again, and followed him out. I half expected to find him leaning over the porch rail, head in his hands, or pacing the edge of the pool, working up the nerve to return and finish what we’d started or at the very least talk. I scanned the yard for his wide-shouldered frame and messy hair but didn’t see him.
The backyard was a different planet from the steamy cocoon of the pool house. The twinkle lights were glimmering under the dark night sky. People milled by the dessert table, licking frosting from their fingers. No Adam. I rounded the patio and checked by the pool, the garage, and even the side yard, where Mr. Knight usually stood smoking when he thought no one noticed. Empty. He was gone.
