Page 16 of These Secret Years

And Sullivan’s hand, squeezing mine now before he lets it go to place it in the center of my chest. “Jesus, is that your heart?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“I’ve never done this before,” I blurt.

“What? Been kissed?”

“Not by a guy.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t have all that much experience either, if that helps.”

There’s so much Sullivan doesn’t say, and with everything else this night has brought, that’s one of the things driving me the craziest. All these questions for him that I still crave answers to.

But everything stops when his lips meet mine. A pathetic whimper escapes me, and I have to fist my hands to keep myself from grabbing him. It’s a light, soft kiss, and I think that might be all I get because he goes very still for a long moment afterward. But then he steps into me, his thighs touching mine, and his lower abs colliding with my erection.

His mouth opens slightly, tugging my lower lip between his. “Are you gonna kiss me back?”

“I want to,” I whisper while I glance around again to make sure we’re still alone out here.

“No one’s gonna see.” His hand on my chest slides up to my shoulder. His lips kiss the corner of my mouth.

Hesitantly, I put a hand on his waist, resting it there. The fact that there’s no curve, only a straight line to his hip bone makes me dizzy with want. I’ve tried not to be this—this thing I’ve always known I am. It’s not like there’s any shortage of reading online I’ve done about how to change these thoughts, these desires. I’ve kissed girls, but I’ve never managed to take it any farther than that. Each of those kisses was a desperate attempt to stop wanting to touch a man like this. Women are beautiful, and I totally get why most guys want them. They’re flattering and sweet. They look at me like I’m a prince or king, boosting my ego and telling me nearly everything I want to hear.

But I don’t want them. I’ve never wanted them.

I want this. Sullivan’s lips opening my mouth slowly with an invitation to touch my tongue to his.

The tips brush, and I moan softly again.

It’s a quiet exploration of a kiss before his lips seal themselves to mine, and our tongues gently lick and stroke. It’s slow and wet. Hot and shaky.

He does all the things. All the things I had to do whenever I kissed a girl. He’s the one moving his mouth, moving closer. He’s the one cupping my jaw and running a hand up and down my side. I’m the one desperate for every flex of his hips, trying not to groan, grunt, and fucking come. Because goddamnit, I could totally come just from this.

As we make out, softly, gently, his hand moves between us, then lands on my crotch. I choke on a gasp, my hand immediately locking around his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“What do you want me to do?”

Fuck him and these questions without answers. I try to kiss him again, but he barely lets me before his mouth meets my neck.

I shudder, letting go of his wrist. He opens my jeans with one hand. The sudden lack of pressure on my cock is acutely uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to suck you?”

Holy shit.

“If you say no, I’ll think you’re lying.”

“Do you want to?”

“I do,” he says.

He sounds compelling enough. “I won’t last.”