Page 95 of Everything Under the Sun

The center.

The impending ache…

THAIS & (ATTICUS)

His unexpected movements took the beat from my heart, and my eyelashes came together. My lips parted in response to his as he explored my mouth with a slow, deliberate hunger that made my legs weak—had I been standing, I would’ve needed to hold onto him for balance—and he hadn’t even kissed me yet.

I felt my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and my head swam feverishly as he parted my lips the rest of the way and slipped his warm tongue between them. I felt my body being pulled toward his as his mouth collapsed around mine; his hands seized the sides of my face, and the once deliberate, skillful kiss became one so deep and ambitious that I all but disintegrated in his arms beneath the power of it.

Was this what Heaven felt like? Had I been wrong about Heaven all my life?

Atticus made a deep noise against my mouth, low and rough, and his hands became heavier as he pulled my face closer, as if he couldn’t get me close enough. My belly felt light with air and shivers; my eyelids and the top my head and down my spine tingled to where it paralyzed me, made every muscle in my body heavy and hot and his. I felt a tug between my legs, and it surprised me. I gasped, wanting to feel it again, wanting to know how much more intense it could be if he’d touch me there with his hands.

Atticus pulled me onto his lap with ease; my legs straddled him. I felt him beneath me and the tugging sensation intensified, spreading outward through my thighs. My chest heaved with the desperate need for breath, but it wasn’t my own breath I needed—I needed his, and only his alone in this moment could sustain me.

I wound my fingers within his short hair, pulling, needing, wanting, but then all too soon the kiss broke, and Atticus, still with his hands against my cheeks, pulled away slowly.

Why? Why stop now, Atticus?

(I knew that if I didn’t stop, I never would.)

It took a moment before I could open my eyes; the lids were like heavy weights; behind them, and the spot between my legs tingled and throbbed so intensely that I felt frustrated as much as I felt intoxicated by it.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

For a long time neither of us said a word. I wanted to know what he was thinking. I wanted to understand my own thoughts. I wanted him, more than I had ever wanted anything, yet I would not say it.

(And I wanted her, more than I had ever wanted anything, or anyone, yet I would not admit it.)

He helped me from his lap and then he stood.

“Atticus?”

(Her voice was soft, sweet, and full of question; I went back over to my quilt and laid down against it. I needed to put distance between us now more than ever. To kiss her…I knew it would be a mistake but…Distance.)

I frowned. He was too far away.

I stood and took my quilt with me, went around the burned-out campfire and laid it down next to his. I could still feel and taste his lips—every part of me could. Oh, every part of me could.

We stared up at the night sky framed by fringes of branches and leaves high above us; a few stars peeked through the navy backdrop like pinholes in a piece of construction paper. His arms were crossed over his chest; his feet were crossed at the ankles. He didn’t look at me as I lay down beside him—but he didn’t tell me not to lay beside him, either.

So, I went a step further and curled up next to him.

“Atticus?” I repeated.

“Yeah?” It was a simple reply, as if his mind were off somewhere else.

“If I ask you to kiss me again, would you?”

“I…don’t know, Thais.” (Lie of the century.)

I smiled, and I wondered if he could feel the shifting of my lips as my face lay pressed against his chest.

(I smiled, only in thought, and wondered if she could sense it, with her head being so close to my heart.)

“Atticus?”

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