Page 12 of They Are Mine

He likes thunderstorms but hates cold weather.

All of it matters.

Every word is something I can use.

Before I know it, we’re standing next to my car. Too soon.

Noah hesitates.

I can see it in the way his hand lingers in mine, in the way he shifts on his feet. He wants to stay. He wants to kiss me.

But he’s too sweet. Too careful.

I can fix that. I pull him closer.

Just a little. Just enough that his chest brushes mine.

Noah sucks in a breath.

And then, I kiss him.

Soft at first. Sweet. Testing the waters, giving him a second to react, to realize.

And then he melts.

Oh. Oh, he’s perfect.

He kisses me back, slow and deep, like he’s savoring every second, like he can’t believe this is happening. His hands are gentle. His lips are warm.

And I want more.

I want his hands somewhere other than my waist. I want fingers on skin, not fabric. I want to feel the warmth of him underneath his sweater, trace my nails down his stomach.

I tighten my grip on his shirt. Just a little. Just enough to feel the muscles underneath.

Noah makes a quiet, shaky sound against my lips.

I nearly lose my mind.

I force myself to pull back before I ruin it. Before I ruin him.

His eyes flicker open, dazed, dark, beautifully confused.

He swallows. “Wow.”

Wow.

I could devour him.

I smile, running my fingers down his arm, feeling the way his breath hitches.

“Goodnight, Noah,” I murmur, stepping back. Sweet, like this is too much. Like I need time to process what happened.

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