Page 72 of Unbound

And it’s just as hard to stuff this meaningful thing in a hiding spot. It’s too similar to how I’d managed to keep it all these years.

“The velveteen rabbit,” Bennett finishes my statement, nodding. As if me hugging this stuffed rabbit so tightly in my arms, like he might take it from me, is highly normal.

“Oh—yeah, it is. At least, I think so? I got it a long time ago.”

“It’s special to you.”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I watch as he steps closer to me and reaches for it, nodding silently. He takes the bunny from my hand before propping it next to the ghost pillow I bought. Then he reaches for me.

Heart squeezing and eyes burning, I take his hand.

“We can sit on my bed together, if that’s not uncomfortable.”

“That’s fine.”

He follows me, sitting only after I have, eyes on me while I turn on my laptop to a stream of Halloween movies—nothing scary. The overhead lights are off, leaving only the soft glow of my lamp and the stars on the ceiling.

“I’d like to hold you,” Bennett says, and our cheeks bear matching red stains almost immediately. “If that’s okay.”

I nod.

No one’s ever asked if they could touch me. They just . . . did.

There’s a wide grin across his lips, but his hands are shaking as he wraps one around my shoulder before pulling me back to lay against him fully. It’s the most physical contact we’ve had in a while, my back flush to his warm, soft chest. It reminds me of the hotel room.

We settle into my bed, my blue blanket tucked around us both as I use his biceps like a pillow. Hocus Pocus and Practical Magic play back-to-back: “Two of my favorites,” I quietly tell him.

By the middle of the second movie, I can’t take much more. I pull on his arm a little, curling farther into him. His lips have pressed into my hair a few times, even daring to touch the skin of my forehead. But I’m borderline desperate for something more now.

I feel like a wriggling fish on a line.

“Bennett?”

“Yeah?”

I swallow a hard gulp and turn my face to stare up at him, neck supported by his large biceps. He pushes himself up a little to look fully into my eyes.

“Can you kiss me?” My fingers dance over my lips absentmindedly. “Here?”

A heavy sigh falls from his mouth, his breath minty and cool.

“It’s all I think about, P, ever since the pool.”

A sigh of relief barely leaves my throat before his lips are pressed to mine, almost too hard, but so perfect. I kiss him back quickly, hands gripping the bedsheets so that I don’t grab for his hair.

My breath is almost too loud against Stevie Nicks singing “Crystal” off my laptop speakers.

His body is beside me, but with his lips on mine, he’s half covering me. I want to ask him to press his weight over me, to let me feel completely sheltered and swallowed by him. Like I could hide in his arms and absorb the calm warmth of him forever.

It’s safe here. I never want to leave.

His lips are deliberate, careful. With a slowness I’ll never master, he raises his hand and tucks it behind my head, lifting my neck toward him. He’s holding me entirely in his hands, his other reaching around to press against the center of my back, pulling me closer.

When we break for air, his mouth settles against the skin of my neck, his hands flexing against me. Now it’s his breath that’s loud, gruff in a way that makes my toes curl before he finally pulls back, kissing my cheek on his way.

“Was that good?”

I bite my lip and nod profusely. He smiles, sated and pleased—with himself or me, I’m unsure. Nor do I care.