Page 56 of All Our Almosts

Then I give in, holding want and need and have together in my hands for the first time. I want to memorize the taste of him, the heat of his body against mine, the texture of his hair as I slide my fingers into it.

I wrap both arms around him, fisting my hands into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer, and he takes it as the encouragement it is. His tongue plunges into my mouth and it feels like he’s claiming me. Consuming me and leaving no trace for anyone else.

I have never been kissed like this.

Ever.

His hands are hungry and tender and everywhere, tracing my back, my hips, my waist. He follows every curve with savoring pressure and I’ve never been more aware of my body or my skin. His warm palm tucks under my shirt, splaying across my lower back, and the press of each fingertip is a flame. His chest is hard and his lips are soft and it feels so right that I can’t believe it’s real.

This is Andy. I’m kissing Andy.

The friction is perfect and nowhere near enough, and I catch my body moving against his. One of his hands twines into my hair, tilting my head to the side with a dominance that sparkles low in my belly. And when his mouth leaves mine I’m prepared to beg for it back. Beg him to keep touching me and taking whatever he wants. But then his lips are on my skin again, this time trailing wet kisses down my neck, each spot of contact bringing me to life until I’m vibrating with need.

My fingers find his jawline, then demandingly pull his mouth back to mine. He moans against my lips and I realize he’s hard—the length of him pressed firm against my hip, his thigh shifting between mine exactly where I need it.

“Andy, mmh—”

I can’t help it. It feels too good. And he must not mind the sounds I’m making as he starts to grind against me, harder, until the final restraints on his control snap. He pushes me up against the door and—

“Ow! Mother—”

“What?” Andy leaps backward, breaking our connection completely. “What happened? Are you okay?” He’s panting as he scans my face and body. “God, did I hurt you?”

It feels like surfacing from the water, disorienting and orienting all at once.

“It’s nothing. Ow. Sorry.” I try to laugh it off. “I just hit my arm on the door. But it’s fine.” I’m rubbing my injured arm from last night, and Andy’s already taken another step away from me.

“Fuck, Soph, I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m really fine. Just a little startled.”

There’s alarm in his eyes that I’m sure mirrors my own, and a million questions balloon between us: What just happened? Why did he do that? Why now? What does it mean?

Where do we go from here?

We can’t take it back. It happened. So now we have to figure out what’s next. Was he just proving a point? It didn’t seem like it. It seemed like he liked it—a lot. So then does he… want to be together?

For a moment, a shard of hope shines in my chest.

Then I smash that shard to bits, because Andy is looking at me with uncertainty that borders on panic. No—what we need right now is damage control. Hope can come later.

I open my mouth to say something comforting, but I don’t know what.

It didn’t mean anything wouldn’t be true.

I’ve wanted to do that for years would be too true.

Do it again is what I’m really thinking, and I think it over and over, praying the thought is somehow loud enough to hear.

His chest rises and falls with his own unsaid words, and the silence feels interminable.

Do it again, I beg. Do it again. Do it again.

But then he repeats “I’m sorry” as he backs away from me. “That shouldn’t have happened. I should just… I should just go. I should… yeah. I’ll be back later. I… sorry, again.”

He grabs his keys off the front table, then opens the door and disappears. I’m alone and shattered.

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