Page 52 of Fumbled Into Love

I want to kiss her again. When it’s not for show or to prove something. I want to kiss her until she’s gasping, moaning,begging for more. Begging so thoroughly that when I sink into her, there is no her or I, there is onlyanus.

Nathalie’s eyes dip to my lips as they curve into a cocky grin.

“Tell me,” I whisper against her lips.

Tell me to stop.

Tell me to kiss you.

Tell me to keep you, and I just might.

So, so slowly, I trail a palm along her spine, and goosebumps begin to pepper her flesh. I drag her close so her lips are a hair’s breadth from mine.

I’m crossing every line I’ve drawn in the proverbial sand and doing so entirely sober. I’m drunk on how she makes me feel; it’s the adrenaline of plummeting from a plane and the comfort of returning home after a long trip.

It’s all there, swimming in her eyes, if I’m brave enough to take it. Lust. Trepidation.Need.

We can do this. No strings attached. Friends with benefits or whatever they call it.

Ican do it.

I’ve never been able to separate sex from my emotions. I never had to. Maybe it’s time for a change.

I attempted a one-night stand a few times when I moved to Seattle, but anytime someone touched me, my skin would crawl, my stomach would churn, and I would leave.

For weeks after any encounter, a tight ball of anxiety would sit beneath my diaphragm. It was difficult to breathe—to function—so I stopped trying.

No experience was worth that feeling of discomfort.

I’ve only had sex with someone I loved, and now I can’t separate those emotions from the physical. It’s not everyone's experience, and I wish I was someone who could have sex without the emotional connection, but I’m not.

I’m not in love with Nathalie, but I trust her—emphatically. She’s…she’s my friend.

She’s patient and thoughtful and witty, and it might not betheemotional connection, but it’s something.

Seconds drag to minutes before Nathalie responds.

“You’re super fucking hot.” She leans in, and my smile grows so large it could be seen from space. She squeezes my neck. “Don’t let that go to your head.”

“Too late.”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

God.

Her question is hesitant and soft and does wicked things to my chest.

“I’m thinking about it.”

I brush a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. I’ve been thinking about it since our firstfakedate, since I had a taste of her.

“I think it would be a smart decision,” she says, lips tilting upward in a smirk.

I waste no time, leaving her no opportunity to add another teasing comment as I crash my lips to hers, stealing her smirk to catch her bottom lip between my teeth.

The kiss is hungry and demanding, and she matches the intensity shot for shot, my desire growing until it’s a living thing in my chest, controlling my every action.

She releases a soft moan before her tongue swipes across my lips, seeking entrance. I cup her jaw, tangling my fingers in her hair, gripping the strands as I release her from the kiss, trailing my lips down the column of her neck.

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