Page 78 of Bloom

“Sorry.”

“Gotta stop apologizing too.”

“So—” I cut myself off, wrinkling my nose, but the hearty, genuine chuckle I earn is worth the slip-up. The smile, too. The beautiful, wide smile that I match, that fades the same as mine the longer we stare at each other.

Something charged passes between us. Something that feels an awful lot like whatever happened at the wedding. Except this time, Hunter doesn’t run away.

In fact, he does the opposite. The tips of his boots brush my bare toes, his breath warming my skin as he stoops. When lips brush a spot on my cheek tantalizingly, terrifyingly, close to the corner of my mouth, I suck in a breath.

“Line,” he sighs my name, and I can’t quite make out his tone. If it’s defeated or wary or pleading or what. It makes me curious, though. Makes me turn my head slightly.

Only slightly, but just enough that my lips brush his.

We both jolt at the contact. We both pull back. Eyes widen, I open my mouth to apologize.

Once again, I’m cut off.

Because Hunter cuts me off.

Because Hunter slants his lips over mine, stealing the words from my mouth as he kisses me.

23

Fuck.

I wasfourteen when I had my first kiss.

Unlike most first experiences, it was perfect. Awkward, yes. Nerve-wracking, of course, because it was this boy I liked so much, this boy Ineededto like me, this kiss I needed to be good—and it was. No teeth clashing or bumped noses or too much tongue. It was nothing like what other girls in my grade had divulged about their own experiences. It was sweet and chaste and fleeting. It was perfect and Jackson was perfect, and both he and the kissing continued to be perfect for many years and kisses to come.

For almost a decade, those kisses have been the gold-star standard. The only thing I knew.

Until now.

None of those kisses were anything like this.

I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't focus on anything other than the fact I'm kissing Hunter, andoh my God, am I kissing Hunter. Is Hunter kissingme—like he never wants to stop, likehe can’t stop. Like there is absolutely nothing else in the world but me. In a way that convinces me there’s absolutely nothing else in the world but him.

Miraculously, there’s no nagging voice in the back of my mind echoing my insecurities on a loop, worrying if I’m doing it right, if he’s enjoying it, if I look or sound weird. My brain is completely, utterly silent except for one word;more.

I’m not sure what I imagined kissing Hunter would be like—I don’t think I ever let myself imagine that—butsoftdefinitely wasn’t it. And it’s not, to a certain extent. There’s a hint of something rough and demanding, a touch of something desperate, in the way his hands hold my hips with a firm, unrelenting grip.

But his lips, God, his lips... They’re utterly gentle against mine. Against the corners of my mouth where he drifts so I can gasp for air before he takes advantage of my parted lips, and sweeps his tongue against mine.

He groans deep in his throat, and I do too. He clings, and I cling too. He kisses me, he really freaking kisses me, and I…

I don’t even have the mental capacity to freak out because I’m entirely concentrated on not buckling. I feel like I’mmelting. Like I’m seconds away from becoming a mere puddle on the floor. Like I could drag him down there with me.

I’m not used to feeling like that either. But God, I kind of want to be.

Incessant, demanding greed washes over me. Makes me feel scarily like how I did last night when most of the contents of a well-stocked bar was floating through my veins—carefree and confident. Incites me to rise up on my toes so I can get closer to Hunter, my palms resting flush against his chest to steady my wobbly self. I fist his t-shirt and I suddenly, boldly, so out of character-ly, wish it wasn’t there. I know exactly what’s underneath, and my palms crave the warm, tan expanse of skin.

It appears I’m not alone in that train of thought. Hunter’s hands glide lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my—his—sweats, beneath the fabric of my freaking panties. When he palms the bare flesh of my ass with both hands, eager beyond belief, I find myself pressed even closer against that hard body—pressingeven closer of my own accord, and whimpering while I do it.

And that's when he snaps out of it.

Abruptly, Hunter’s warmth disappears. He leaves me confused, bereft, as he stumbles backwards, a decidedly rattled expression contorting his face. Startled by the sudden movement, I do the same, my back hitting the counter. Eyes wide, I raise a shaky hand to my tingling, swollen lips.

Slowly, too slowly yet somehow not slow enough at the same time, the kiss-fuelled haze fogging my senses clears. The borderlinehorrorpainting Hunter’s face, the nervous dart of his eyes as he looks everywhere but at me, cuts through it. The reality of the situation has me plummeting back down to Earth.

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