Page 84 of The Kiss Principle

We sat on the couch, the television on, TV voices babbling. Eventually, the doorbell rang, and I got our food and carried it into the kitchen. He hadn’t liked it, I thought as I unpacked the salads. He hadn’t hated it. He hadn’t liked it. He hadn’t cared, maybe that was a better way of putting it. That part of his life was over. You should have gotten him a cute dad shirt, I thought as I got down glasses. You should have gotten him a cake—

Zé’s hands on my hips caught me, steadied me. And then the length of his body was pressed against mine, his mouth against my neck. He kissed me lightly, and I shivered like I had a fever. That was how it had all started. His lips against my neck. The gentleness of it. The question in it. Like now.

“You don’t have to…” But I couldn’t finish that sentence.

I tried to turn, but his hands tightened on my hips, holding me in place. I remembered how easily he’d moved me when he’d wanted to. How strong he was, with that toned, masculine body hidden under baggy surf clothes. His lips brushed my neck again, lower this time. The stubble on his chin scraped my shoulder. His cheek rubbed against the strap of my tank. I was instantly, totally, no-take-backs hard, my dick trapped between my body and the cabinets.

“Zé,” I said, my hands finding his.

“I love you,” he whispered and kissed my shoulder again. “I don’t think I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Thank you for being so wonderful.”

I shook my head.

“Thank you,” he said again, and now his kisses were moving back up my neck again, “for being so generous.”

“I should have asked.”

“I can’t tell you how much it means to me. I’m sorry I acted—I acted weird.” The next kiss, he pressed below my jaw. I could smell him: coconut wax, and that darker, driftwood earthiness. “I got a little overwhelmed. Lots of feelings.” His breath was warm on my neck. “Thank you, Fernando. Thank you so much.”

I tried to say something. I couldn’t.

Zé drew my face around and kissed me. It was awkward—in part because of the angle, and in part because our timing was off. But it was Zé, and he tasted like Zé, and his mouth was Zé’s mouth, and I remembered the shape of it, how he was supposed to feel, and I turned and kissed him again. He parted his lips and let my tongue into his mouth, and he moaned. I could feel him now through those stupid board shorts, the hardness of his dick, and he rubbed himself against me as I kissed him again.

When we separated, we were both breathing hard. His pupils were so big his eyes looked almost black, and his lips were glossy and parted. He took my hand, and I said, “Zé.”

But he smiled and nodded, and I’m not made of steel. I let him lead me down the hall. His hand was a man’s hand. Callused, big-fingered, certain. When he stumbled, I put out a hand to steady him, and he looked back over his shoulder to smile at me. I pushed the hair out of his eyes and thought, I’m allowed to do this. I’m allowed to touch him like this.

We went into my bedroom, and I helped him out of his clothes, and then he helped me with mine. I spent a momentlooking at him: the dark nipples, the beautiful brown of his skin that lightened below his hips, his cock. He was looking a little raggedy down there, which made me weirdly happy—it was nice to know (or to believe, anyway) that last time, Zé had cleaned himself up for me, and after he’d left, he’d let himself go.

I thought maybe we’d try what had worked for us last time, with Zé sitting on my lap so that he could keep his leg straight, but instead, he stretched out on my bed. I sat next to him and put my hand on his hip, and I watched goosebumps spread across his belly. I did that, I thought. I’m doing this, and I did that, and he’s letting me. I rubbed my hand across the ripple of abs, and he flexed into me like a cat.

“Lie down,” he whispered. “I want to be with you.”

So, I did. We made out for a while. He liked when I scruffed him with my stubble, and I left hot red tracks across his neck and chest and nipples. I sucked and bit his nipples. He left a major hickey on my neck, and distantly, I knew I was going to have to ask Augustus about concealer. He played with my dick, and after a while, I played with his. I liked it, don’t get me wrong. It was hot, handling a guy’s junk. And it was hotter because it was Zé. But it was still new ground. I stuck to the basics, and to judge by the noises, I did all right.

When I slid down between Zé’s legs, he stopped me.

“What?” I asked. “Do you want to sixty-nine?”

His cheeks were already flushed, but now the color deepened. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

I nodded so fast my head almost came off. Zé grinned, and I realized how that must have looked.

“I mean, I don’t have to,” I said. “I’m still figuring this stuff out, so if you like to top, I mean, I can definitely, um, try—”

He didn’t laugh, but his grin did get bigger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, swatting the inside of his thigh. I ignored his yelp. “I’m being a fucking gentleman. I don’t have to stick my dick in you just because—”

“Just because the only way you’ve ever had sex is to be the one doing the sticking?” Zé asked drily.

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