Page 98 of A Really Bad Idea

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, Christian has his arms around me, cocooning me in. His hand grips the back of my hair, holding it tight, as I bury myself into his chest and find comfort in the warmth of his embrace. Gripping the back of his shirt, I pull him in until it feels like we are one.

I never want to let go.

Outside my window, the park is pitch-black. The streetlamps from the pathways shine, creating a swivel pattern. It looks like shooting stars coasting through the darkness. I make a silent wish on nonexistent stars.

“I went home, and it didn’t feel right,” he breathes into the top of my head. “I had no idea if I was making the right decision, coming here, but I’m glad I did.”

I look up into his magnetic eyes as they glaze over. “How did I get so lucky to have a best friend like you?”

His chest puffs out, the heat of his body radiating into mine. His mouth parts to speak, but he doesn’t say a word. His pupils dilate, and his hands firmly lay against the silk of my blouse. There’s an intensity in his stare. It’s severe and powerful, and it makes me nod my head ever so slightly, letting him know I’m feeling it, too.

He lowers his hands to the hem of my shirt and lifts it up over my shoulders.

I raise the white cotton tee off his chest and lace my fingers in the splattering of hair, feeling the pounding of his heart pumping against my palms. His fingers rise to my neck and gently press, and my pulse throbs against his skin.

His tongue skims his bottom lip just before he leans down and kisses me.

This kiss is different from all the kisses we’ve shared before. It’s not in desperation or even expectation. It’s not done in urgency or playfulness.

This kiss is sensual.

It’s sweet.

It’s full of longing and desire.

It’s a kiss of two people whose hearts are beating together as one, in sync, their rhythm never to be changed again.

Our hands move with the delicate touch of a dance. I sway mine low to undress him; his glide down the sides of my hips as he leaves me bare.

We make our way to the sofa where I guide him down and straddle him, making no attempt to move this forward.

His eyes, looking up into mine, are soulful and searching. His hands grip my head, delicate yet possessive. With an enchanting gaze, he looks like he has so many things to say, yet he says nothing at all.

I give him my words in silence.

Are we just friends? I ask him with the way my hand caresses his face.

He answers by leaning his head into my palm, breathing ever so softly despite his parted lips and longing pants. I try to inhale his words, but they’re so loud that I can’t understand them.

With a kiss to his cheek, I tell him I love his compassion.

With a kiss to his eyes, I tell him I love his ability to see the good.

With a kiss to his hand, I tell him I love his ability to heal.

With a kiss to his mouth, I tell him I love everything about him.

All the words I’m too afraid to say scream from my soul as I raise my hips and fall onto him.

He inhales sharply, and his arms grip me, holding me, pulling me in. He kisses me with every slow grind of my body against his.

Our foreheads fall against each other.

We inhale the pleasure.

We exhale the pain.

We make love with our eyes open.