"Maybe we should seize the moment," I hear myself say. "Make up for lost time."
His hand stills. "What do you mean?"
I sit up, turning to face him. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "I mean... maybe we shouldn't wait anymore. Maybe we should just... go for it."
Owen's eyes search mine, and I can see him trying to figure out what I'm saying. What I'm asking for.
"Ivy—"
"I know it's fast. I know we just… I mean, I just had my first kiss. But Owen, I don't want to overthink anymore. For once in my life, I want to just... jump."
He moves closer, reaching up to cup my face with one hand. His thumb traces my cheekbone, and the touch sends shivers down my spine. "Are you sure about this?"
"No," I admit. "I'm not sure at all. But it feels right. And I'm tired of waiting for the perfect moment or the perfect circumstances. This is already perfect because it's you."
"Ivy..."
"I want you," I whisper. "I've wanted you for fifteen years. And I know I don't know what I'm doing, and I'll probably be terrible at it, but—"
He kisses me.
It's different from the first kiss. Deeper. His hand slides into my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me properly, and I make a sound I've never made before, something between a gasp and a moan.
It's like fireworks exploding inside my brain. Like every nerve ending in my body just woke up at once. His lips are soft but insistent, and when his tongue traces my lower lip, asking for entrance, I give it without thinking.
This is what people write about. This is what I've read about in a thousand books and never quite understood.
I understand now. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. Owen rests his forehead against mine, and I can feel him shaking slightly.
"God, Ivy," he breathes. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
"No," I say honestly. "But I want to find out."
He pulls back enough to look at me, and his eyes are dark with something I've never seen before. Want. Need. Hunger. "If we do this, we go slow. We do this right."
"Okay."
"I mean it. You tell me if anything feels wrong or if you want to stop. Promise me."
"I promise." I reach up, taking off his glasses and setting them on the coffee table. Then I kiss him again, trying to pour everything I'm feeling into it. All the years of lust, all the nights I spent imagining this, all the love I've been too scared to name.
He makes a sound low in his throat and pulls me closer, until I'm practically in his lap. His hands are on my waist, and I can feel their heat through my cardigan.
I want to feel them on my skin.
As if reading my mind, Owen breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my jaw to my neck. The sensation makes me gasp, and I tilt my head back to give him better access.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my throat. "Do you know that? So goddamn beautiful."
I want to argue, but then his teeth graze my pulse point and all coherent thought leaves my brain.
He looks happy. That's what I can't get over. He looks genuinely, completely happy to be doing this. Like kissing my neck is the best thing that's happened to him all day.
Owen Harper, successful doctor, handsome and smart and everything I'm not, has a thing for me.
It's impossible. It's a dream. It's—
"Don't overthink," Owen says, pulling back to look at me. "I can see you getting in your head. Stay here with me."
