Page 51 of Late Bloomer
A comfortable beat of silence passes between us as we both stare at the delicate white petals as they spin in a blur, the portrait clutched to my chest. “I play with them when I’m feeling anything…big. Or hard to understand. Nature’s little stim toys.”
Opal laughs at that, her eyes creased at the corners as she looks up at me.
And, because I apparently am dead set on embarrassing myself tonight, I find my body lurching forward once again, closing the few inches of space remaining between us and holding her snugly against me. She stills, and I’m screaming at myself in embarrassment. But in half a heartbeat, she’s hugging me back, pressing that cute button nose against the spot where my shoulder meets my neck. Breathing me in.
Her hands move slowly, lazily. One grazing low on my spine, the other tracing around my ribs to my back, her palm splayed between my shoulder blades.
Want slices through me with a breathtaking ache. Sudden and sharp. A need for closer. For more. For that intoxicating smell of hers to embed itself in my skin.
And that want takes over.
One hand curls around the swell of her hip, the fingers of the other tangling in her hair, tilting her face so her lips are centimeters from mine. I release my grip to drag my touch across her cheek, down her throat.
She sucks in a breath, stealing all the air from my lungs, eyes fixed on my mouth. I feel her pulse pick up speed under my fingertips. Then, she licks her lips.
And I’m gone.
I press my mouth to hers. She presses back. Little sparks jolt through my chest and down my limbs, making me gasp. Opal swallows the sound.
We’re a mess—fumbling lips and clashing teeth and handsfisting clothing—pressing closer and closer together until there’s no space between us. Finally, we collide into a rhythm, kisses searing hot and desperate. I trace my tongue along the seam of her lips and she moans as she opens to me and it’s madness and mayhem and I can’t get enough.
Opal presses up onto her tiptoes—closer, harder—tongue tangling with mine in some wordless battle to conquer this pleasure blooming around us. Her hands travel all over me. Down my hips, up my rib cage, across the sides of my breasts until both cradle the angle of my jaw. The nudge of her nose against mine as she shifts her head, kissing me deeper. Rougher. Lovelier.
The world stops spinning. I’m the one orbiting the sun.
Opal presses her teeth into my lip, and the effect is sharp and vibrant—an effervescent bite that shoots to my stomach and fizzes through my veins like champagne. My knees start to wobble, and I take a step forward, pushing her along with me until she’s up against the wall and I’m pressed against her soft curves.
The painful press of the doorjamb into my knuckles—my hand tangled in Opal’s hair—brings reality crashing into me.
Wait.
Oh no.
I’m kissing Opal.
I should absolutely not be kissing Opal. I can’t exactly think of reasonswhyI shouldn’t be kissing Opal when kissing her has quickly become one of my favorite things in the world to do, but facts are facts, and I jump away from her.
We stare at each other, chests heaving. Opal’s eyes are perfect circles, pupils blown wide, her lips swollen and red, and I try really hard to tamp down the swell of excitement that surges through me seeing her wrecked like this.
“You kissed me!” Her voice cracks like a whip.
“No I didn’t.”
“I’m pretty sure you did.”
I gape at her like a fish for a moment, then violently shake my head, my pulse sawing at my chest in a jagged, painful rhythm. I can’t suck in a breath past the top of my throat, and I start to feel light-headed, everything going fuzzy, the press of Opal’s mouth against mine still so fresh my lips tingle with the memory.
Opal starts to say something else, but I cut her off.
“I’m sorry. I have to go.” I spin away, desperately searching for an escape. The back door seems reasonable.
“Where are you going?” Opal’s pitch is high, dripping with disbelief.
“For a run,” I say, forgoing shoes and pushing open the screen door, bolting down the steps.
“You run?”
“I’m a track star,” I yell over my shoulder, taking off into the pitch-black night.
