Page 23 of Kiss Me, Maybe

“Stop.” She smiles, flashing white teeth.She’s smiling again.“We’re a lot more than that now.” I forget how to breathe until she goes on, her smile falling as her expression shutters. “Angela… you fell off your bike in the middle of the street. I almost thought… Well…” She huffs a breath. Shakes her head and forces a brittle smile. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“It’s just a couple of scratches and bruises.” I try to shrug before remembering my injured shoulder. Instead, it comes off as an awkward wince.

“You were almost hit by a car,” she deadpans, her dark eyes catching my movement. “It could’ve been a lot worse. I’m glad it wasn’t.” She stares at me for a long moment, until I start squirming again.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the sorry one, remember? Just don’t do it again,” she says, almost in a grumble. “You’re not allowed to die on me yet. We just started getting to know each other.”

“What do you meanyet,” I counter.

“We all die, Angela,” she informs me, like it’s news to me or something. “But you’re not allowed for another, oh, I don’tknow, eight decades or something. No more stupid stunts. You don’t know how to ride a bike? You don’t ride one unless you’re covered head to toe in bubble wrap. Got it?”

Knowing she wants me around for at least another eighty years warms me from the inside out.

“I”—am smiling like an idiot—“will try not to die next time.”

She gives me a look.

“Fine.” I let out a long sigh. “No more stupid stunts.”

“Good.” She gives a satisfied nod. “I’m gonna have to keep an eye on you. I have a feeling you’re gonna be a handful.”

I scoff good-naturedly, and she bumps her shoulder to my good one. “Come on. Let me get you home in one piece. You little daredevil.”

Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“No more Angel?” I pout, purposefully sticking out my lower lip.

A flash of surprise crosses her face, and then she lets out a light chuckle. Shakes her head. Places her hand on the small of my back as she opens her front door. Her lips hover over my ear, breath warm as she says, “Be good and we’ll see.”

There’s that heat crawling up my skin again, making my heart pound everywhere, including more inconvenient places. What the hellisthis strange feeling overcoming me, making me want to rush home and sort myself out under the covers?

But more than that, why do I like it so much?

Ten

Be good and we’ll see.

Her voice low and husky, her breath warm on my overheated skin. A hand I half wish was hers trails across my collarbone. I’m alone in my bedroom, confused as all hell. A finger moves to trail the ear she whispered into, using my nail to graze the soft shell. When a shiver runs through my body, I can almost pretend it’s her doing it. It’sherdriving me up the wall.

What the hell?I’m not sleeping anyway. I don’t want to think too hard about what this means for my sexuality as I kick off the covers, cool air from the ceiling fan hitting my skin. Or what it means for everything I thought I learned about myself over the past year. If this will only place me a few steps back or straight to the drawing board.

All I know is I don’t fight it when I turn over on my stomach and a hand roams my body. Up my stomach, strumming my already hardened nipples. Then back down, nails lightly grazing the hem of my underwear.

Lower.

I’m already wet, but that’s not a surprise. For all the time I’ve known Krystal, pined for her from afar, I’m not sure I’ve ever been aroused by her. Not until today. It’s not that I want to have sex with her, exactly. At least, I don’t think I do. That’s not the image in my head as my hand roams lower anyway. This feels more like a gray area between sexual arousal and sexual attraction—something new I don’t have a name for possibly.

Masturbation is usually enough for me. Have I been curious what someone else’s touch on my body would feel like? The sensation of hands and lips and tongues where only my own touch has been? Sure, but purely on a scientific level. My hypothesis: Would sex feel nearly as good as the way it looks in my head?

I have no idea.

Here’s what I know so far. It started with her warm breath on my neck, her hands on my body stoking the fire, the scent of her perfume clouding my senses, our thighs pressed together on the sofa. A heady mixture I can’t make heads or tails of.

That’s it.

That’s what’s driving up my libido, all those remembered feelings that keep my hand traveling down my body, that has me spreading my legs and dipping two fingers beneath the soft fabric to the ache it’s covering. A sigh leaves my lips at the first contact, but I can’t come from those memories alone. For that, I have to cycle through the usual fantasies as my fingers work over my clit. But even still, I can’t get Krystal’s face out of my brain. My thoughts are a confusing jumble I don’t understand until a wave of desire crashes over me, again and again. I collapse face-first onto the bed, my thighs shaking through the strongest orgasm I’ve had in months.

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