Page 119 of Forbidden Fruit
“I choose you. In this life, the next, and every dream I’ll ever dare to have in between.”
“I don’t want to get hurt again,” she says after a few seconds, steady though her eyes give away her vulnerability. “And I want to make sure Abby and I are good before we can fully be together. So that means no sex. We started this mess with sex, and I want to make sure we do it right this time around.”
I should feel frustrated, maybe even disappointed, but instead, all I feel is pride. Pride in her for setting boundaries and for standing firm.
“I can respect that,” I say. Then, because I can’t helpmyself, I let my guard down just a little. “Can I kiss you now?”
Her expression softens, her lips twitching as if she’s trying not to smile. And when she nods, just a small movement, it feels like a victory.
Without wasting a second, I reach for her, cradling her face in my hands like it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held.
The second our lips meet, it’s like the world stops spinning. Everything else fades, every worry, every doubt, every lingering fear. It’s just us. Her lips are soft, warm, and familiar, yet somehow even better than I remembered.
She melts into me, and when I feel her open up, giving me permission, it’s game over. My tongue slides into her mouth, claiming her, dominating her, and I can feel her surrendering in the way her body molds to mine. It’s everything I’ve missed and more.
When we finally pull apart, her lips are slightly swollen, her eyes wide with shock and desire.
“Still need more time?” I ask, teasing.
She exhales a shaky laugh, her hands curling into my shirt as she pulls me back toward her. “Shut up,” she says before kissing me again.
“Peach, hit A, A, X!” My voice bounces off the walls of the small living room as I glance at Blair, who’s frantically mashing random buttons like her controller is possessed. We’re playingIt Takes Two, and let’s just say teamwork is… a work in progress.
Now, my Blair, my love, my beauty, my absolute weakness, is a goddess in every sense of the word. Her skills as a fashion designer alone could make angels weep. And in the bedroom? Let’s just say heaven might need a new definition.
But when it comes to Xbox games, or honestly, any kind of game, she might be the worst player in the history of gaming.
Seriously. The. Absolute. Worst.
The worst part? She’s the one who begged me to buy this damn game. She saw it on social media and decided it would be a “cute bonding experience” and “a great way to work on our teamwork.” (Her words, not mine.)
And, like the sucker I am when it comes to her, I bought it. I thought it’d be fun, it’d be sweet. I thought wrong.
It’s been hours.Hours.
“Why do I keep dying?!” she screeches as her character plummets off yet another ledge.
“Because you’re not hitting A, A, X!” I shout back, trying and failing not to laugh.
“Iam! The stupid controller is broken,” she accuses, glaring at it like it just insulted her latest design.
“No, baby, you’re just…” I pause, catching myself. Telling her she sucks might not be the best way to keep the peace. “…still learning.”
Her eyes narrow suspiciously, but she doesn’t call me out. Instead, she huffs, puffing a stray strand of hair from her face, and returns to mashing buttons with the same chaotic energy.
And yet, as frustrating as it is watching her character flail around, I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Because even when she’s bad—horribly, laughably bad, at this—she’s still mine.
“You’re supposed to jump, Blair. Jump and dash.” I groan as her character runs straight into a pit for the thirtieth time.
“I am jumping!” she shouts back, her eyes wild with frustration. “The game is broken!” I can’t help but laugh. She is just too cute. Unable to stop herself, she laughs too. “It’s not funny, I’m really trying here.”
“God, you’re killing me, smalls. You’re lucky you’re cute. Okay, one more time. Press A, then A, then X,” I instruct. To her credit, she tries to follow my direction diligently, but to no avail. Her character meets another unfortunate fate.
It’s only been five days since we decided to give this a real shot, five days since Blair made the seemingly absurd decision that we wouldn’t have sex for a week. A wholeweek. Or, as she put it, ‘until I’ve had a face-to-face conversation with my sister.’
It’s been over a month since I’ve had her. Not five days, a month. And now, she’s walking around like the goddamn embodiment of temptation, making this self-imposed celibacy feel like cruel and unusual punishment.
She doesn’t even have to try. The way her hair frames her face, wild and perfect, or how her smooth skin catches the light, it’s enough to drive me insane. That tiny waist that fits in my hands like it was made for me, those curves that defy logic, and those lips. God, don’t get me started on those lips.
