Page 63 of Long Story Short

I try not to think about it. I don’t need to think about the emotional side of things right now. I don’t need to think about feelings getting involved—at least, not yet.

Right now, I want to focus on the physical side of things with him.

Like how the air between us feels electrified.

It’s quiet as we stare at each other, the silence feeling heavy, but in a good way. Like what we said is still lingering between us as we both soak in what I said, my honesty pulling us closer.

My gaze drops to his mouth. I don’t even try to hide it.

“Ty…” I start, my voice softer than I expected it to be.

His eyes find mine instantly. He watches me closely, like he’s been waiting for me to say something. “Yes?”

I swallow, my fingers curling slightly around the hem of my dress.

“I meant what I said earlier.” I continue to hold his gaze, even though my heart is racing. “About wanting more with you.”

Something in his expression deepens. Not in a bad way, but like he’s focusing or replaying what I’ve said. Like I have all of his attention.

“More?” he repeats, his voice lower and raspy.

I nod as I try to catch my breath from the anticipation coursing through my veins. “I don’t want things to feel boring anymore. And I don’t want to write about something I’ve never really felt.” My voice dips as I get more honest with him than I’ve ever been, no matter how terrifying it is to do it. “I want to understand it. Like, really understand it.”

I swear, thanks to the moonlight and the soft lighting of his kitchen, I can see his blue irises darken.

“And you think I can help with that?” he asks, his voice shaking slightly as if he’s trying to keep his words composed, but it’s hard to do so.

“I know you can,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper now. “You already have.”

If he didn’t have a record playing in the background, I’m certain that you’d be able to hear the sound of my racing heart.

The words hang between us. For a second, neither one of us moves.

Then his hand lifts, the movement slow and deliberate. His fingers dance along my jaw as he slides his hand to the back of my neck.

“Careful,” he rasps, his thumb grazing just below my ear. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

I wet my lips again before letting out a small, nervous breath. Still, I don’t pull away.

“I think I do,” I respond. “I don’t want boring anymore. I know things are new and casual, but I want whatever this is between us.”

That’s all it takes.

He leans in slowly this time—giving me time to stop him if I want to.

I don’t.

Stopping him is the last thing I want.

Our lips meet softly at first. The kiss isn’t rushed or desperate. It’s slower, deeper, and feels far more intentional. Like he’s wanting to show me something instead of just taking, which is the way the kiss felt this morning.

My hand slides up his chest, fisting the fabric of his shirt as I lean into him. His mouth moves against mine with deliberate patience that makes my chest—and the place between my thighs—ache. It’s like he’s drawing it out on purpose. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I can’t help but let out a soft moan when his thumb presses slightly to the back of my head, tilting it just enough to deepen the kiss.

Heat spreads through me. It’s all-consuming. It’s like every single inch of me is aware of him. I’m aware of the way his thighs cage me in. His legs press against mine, keeping me in place, even though that isn’t necessary. I wouldn’t move away from him. If anything, I want to get closer. I want to crawl into his lap and find even more ways to connect our bodies. Where his fingertips dig into my skin is like a brand.

I feel him everywhere—even in the places he isn’t even touching.