Page 130 of The Other Side

“The only girl I ever made love to,” he breathes.

I inhale a breath of liberation. Fear is nothing but an afterthought as he assures me of the last ten years. That his sexual experiences were just as average as mine.

They could never compare.

I toss my head back when he trails his scorching lips over my neck. He breathes fire on my flesh, his kisses reaching between my breasts.

My teeth roll over my lip when he cups my pussy over the denim, kneading it before wrenching a moan from me.

He lifts his hand to cuddle my cheek, our warm breath tangling when he speaks. “I’ll be damned if you aren’t my last, Dove,” he whispers. “You’d have to kill me first.”

I nod, planting my palms on top of his backward snapback on my head. “Yours,” I pant. “Always, Dove.”

He bobs his head, our swollen lips brushing. “Mine.”

It’s a boiling kiss. Our tongues lunge at the other, my hands fisting his shirt to bring him as close as possible. We make out over the last bit of “Mr. Brightside,” our tiny smiles stretching between our crushed faces.

Bright hues of yellow and green sprinkle us. We’re under the same umbrella we once were, and somehow, that excitement burns hotter.

The excitement of young love that’s wild. Hasty. Free.

It never faltered in our time apart. Out of the rare things in this world that are timeless, I’m so fucking grateful we’re one of the lucky ones.

God, I’m so fucking lucky.

The lust gradually drifts away with the introduction of “Wrapped Around” by Brad Paisley. Brant lays on his back, and I cuddle into his side.

Our stunted breaths christen the charged air, and my palm rests on his pumping chest. My cheek snuggles into the crook of his arm, and he bends a leg up.

We linger on the sunflowers above. Brant’s hand covers mine on his torso, and I curl my leg to settle it over his that’s stretched flat.

We’re positioned like this for the rest of the song. Brad’s angelic voice. Brant’s backward snapback on my head. A sunflower patch. Burrowing our horniness.

Just like two teenagers who felt each other for the very first time.

And so, we meet paradise once again.

My eyelids fall as my brows screw in discomfort, but I manage a nod. “D-don’t move.”

Brant keeps his word, and I drain a breath as I open my eyes.

We’re connected.

My vision gradually focuses, my periphery catching the colors that float above us. From the sunflower petals to the streaked sky, we’re submerged in something beautiful.

For once.

This is the reason we didn’t lose our virginity on my eighteenth birthday. I always wondered why he didn’t take all of me that afternoon. Seeing him parked above me now, there’s not a thing I would’ve wanted him to have done differently.

This is perfection.

A slice of paradise amidst our suffering.

My grip slackens around his neck when I pulse around him. The sharp pain has dissolved, replaced with a new sensation that begs me to listen.

I flutter around him again, and we gasp in sync. We dip our heads to our connection, faint moans pouring from us. They’re hardly audible, but we hear it.

His attention meets mine, our throats rolling at the same time.