Page 111 of What We Brave
I don't want still tonight. I don't want careful.
I want to know what happens when Blake stops holding back. What his hands feel like when they're not gentle. What his mouth feels like when he's not letting me lead.
My knees press together and I stare out the windshield like the road is suddenly the most fascinating thing I've ever seen.
Please kiss me tonight. Please don't be a gentleman about it.
Back at my place, he walks me to my door. His hand on my back again, warm and steady. Between us, the air is actually humming. Or maybe that's my ears. Either way, the feelings are big.
We stop outside my apartment. Face each other in the dim hallway light.
"I had a really good time," I say. "A really, really good time."
"Yeah?" That uncertainty again. Like he can't quite believe it.
"Yeah."
He's close. Close enough that I can smell his soap, somethingwoodsy and clean. Close enough that I can see his breathing has changed, his chest rising a little faster than it should.
Kiss me. The thought is so clear, so loud, I'm half-convinced I said it out loud.
"Laine." My name in his mouth. Rough and low and desperate. And okay, good. At least it's not just me. At least I'm not the only one standing in this hallway losing my mind.
He leans in.
This kiss is nothing like the desperate, impulsive one at the homeless camp. Nothing like the soft, quick peck in the garage.
This is the kind of kiss that burns every single thought out of my head. Just gone. All of it. Every worry, every question, every sarcastic comment I've ever used as a shield — incinerated.
His mouth is on mine and it's not careful, not tentative, not asking permission. One hand cradles my jaw and the other presses flat against my lower back, pulling me into him like the space between us is a problem he needs to solve immediately. He kisses like he's been starving. Like I'm the only thing that could save him. Like he's been holding back a flood and he just — let it break.
Nothing about Blake is refined or delicate. His teeth graze my bottom lip. His tongue slides against mine, hot and demanding, and when I gasp he swallows the sound whole, deepens the kiss until I can't remember what standing upright is supposed to feel like.
My fingers grip his shirt. His hand tangles in my hair. He presses me back against my door, and I feel every hard inch of him, the restraint coiled in his muscles, the barely-leashed control like he's holding himself on a very short chain and the links are about to snap.
Every nerve ending I possess suddenly has Blake's name on it. Reid kisses me like he's memorizing something precious. Blake kisses like he's drowning and I'm air.
And I don't have to choose.
I almost laugh against his mouth. That's the whole point, isn't it? I don't have to choose anymore.
This was the best freaking idea. I'm a literal genius.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
"I should go," he says. His voice is wrecked.
"You should." I don't let go of his shirt.
I want him to stay. The thought isn't scary anymore. It's just true. My apartment is going to feel so empty when he leaves. My bed is going to be so cold.
His forehead drops to mine. "If I don't leave now, I won't leave."
"I know." And I do know. This is fast. Too fast. The whole point of dating is to build a foundation, and he loves me. He's said it over and over. He deserves to know if I can love him back before we go any further. And I don't want to hurt him.
He kisses me again, softer this time, almost gentle, like an apology for everything that came before it. Then he steps back. His eyes are stormy, pupils blown wide.
"Goodnight, Laine."
