Change is Good
“I want to kiss you so bad … but if I kiss you, it will change everything,” he says in that gravelly voice.
“Change is good,” I whisper.
Rolling to his side, his mouth is centimeters from mine. I can’t make myself move although I’m aching with want. But I haven’t been kissed—ever. And I haven’t kissed anyone since that time on the monkey bars in seventh grade when I stuck my tongue in Brian Thomas’s mouth on a bet. I shocked the shit out of him, and he didn’t even kiss me back. When the bell rang, he jerked back and hit his head hard, sending him to the nurse for the rest of the afternoon. Not my finest moment.
“I don’t want to lose my best friend,” he tells me.
I bring up my other hand and run it over his jaw. “You’re not going to lose me. No matter what. We’ll still be friends.”
“Relationships ruin friendships. We’ve seen enough of that.”
I shiver with that truth. “True. But we’re different. We’ve been together since before we were born. I can’t live without you, so I won’t hurt our friendship.”
Bringing our entwined hands up, he kisses my knuckles. “Me either. We’ll take it slow, all right?”
“All right, my golden boy,” I whisper.
The effect of my words is instantaneous; the blue in his eyes intensifies to boiling. He leans in, his lips brushing mine softly, “Denver,” he whispers against me. “I’ve always wanted to make you mine. Ever since I understood what that meant. I’ve never seen anyone but you.” And even though his eyes burn with passion, I hear a little tremor in his voice. Now, him always putting off those girls makes a whole lot more sense.
“I thought we were taking it slow,” I chastise, but I delight in knowing that he feels something more for me.
“I just want you to know that I don’t take this lightly. You’re the most important person in my universe. And I’ll do anything to protect us.”
His declaration unleashes a torrent of need in me, and I no longer want him to kiss me—I need him to kiss me. “Greer, will you shut up and kiss me, please?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a laugh, and bringing one of his hands up, he cradles my jaw and draws my lips to his. My free hand skims down to rest at his waist, his jeans riding low on lean hips and exposing warm, bare skin. His lips are soft and explore mine as I match his movements. I feel indulged—spoiled by his goodness. I try to savor how tender and sweet he is even though I am impatient for more, so when I feel his lips part, I follow suit. His tongue sweeps in, seeking and teasing. I hear myself moan. I’m almost embarrassed by my eagerness, but when his moan echoes mine, I feel reassured.
He pulls back after a few more seconds and places a gentle kiss on my lips, then on my nose. “Denver …” he breathes. My name packs a punch, and I feel it everywhere.
Keeping my eyes closed, I just nod and lick my lips, trying to savor every bit of him and his sweet words.
Used Copyright by Lynetta Halat 2014. All rights reserved.