Page 88 of Callan

A second dies, and he leans to me while I wait, holding my breath, not knowing what to expect.

When he knows what I know, he crashes his lips onto mine, and I welcome him without a doubt.

I fail the test within seconds as I’m submitting to his will.

My arms snake around his neck, my lips soft against his mouth.

We no longer need a fabricated reason to kiss.

He wants to prove me wrong, and I want to imagine this entire story belongs to us.

There aren’t other people.

There isn’t a backstory. And more importantly, he isn’t the man with a veiled history I know nothing about.

His kiss evolves from a sensual tease to being intrusive and domineering.

The thought that he takes over me turns me on.

My body responds with spiraling warmth and tension, both building faster than my deep-seated fear that I might not be able to pull back from him.

Awash with a delicious need for him, I enjoy the tingles romping down my legs and the soft pulsations in my core.

His hand splays over my neck while I hold my own, kissing him back with passion.

His other hand slides down, trailing past my collarbones and working its way to my chest.

My hand slides over his, and it kills me to stop him from cupping my breasts and kneading them, adding to the sensation of impending doom growing in my center.

If he touches as much as an inch of my skin, I’ll be out of my clothes in two seconds flat, straddle his hard-on, and ride him to exhaustion.

I’m so stirred up and hungry for sex and so convinced I will regret doing it with him, because, for sure, I will be hating myself when he drops me off at my place.

His lips tear away from mine, his eyes glimmering with questions, and all that arousing sensation traveling from our connected mouths to the throbbing flesh between my thighsall but vanishes, replaced by a mysterious and mortal sickness for not having him.

“It’s not that I don’t want you…” I say, sounding surprisingly resolute in the silence between us.

He tilts an eyebrow at me, wanting me to continue.

“It’s that I want you to be a good memory for me,” I say, still holding his hand against the top of my chest. “And right now, that’s not possible,” I add, convinced this would put an end to his interest in me.

He slides his hand away from under my touch and looks in the distance as if the most important aspect of our trip is the snow, the trees, and the benches.

“I’m not Carmen,” I say when his silence prolongs and I ponder whether he is upset or not.

He turns his eyes to me and studies me like a wolf would study a puppy.

With wonder and amusement in his eyes.

“I know that… That’s why we’re here,” he says, his eyes dipping to my mouth, a smile sliding across his lips.

Relief flows through me, and the corners of my lips lift into a smile.

“Are you testing me?” I ask.

He slightly shakes his head while his grinning eyes say otherwise.

“I can’t have sex like that,” I say, chiding myself in my head for not quitting while ahead.

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