“When he kissed me again, I thought I would break apart with need. He pulled back, watching me silently. A question waited for me in his eyes. "Yes," I murmured. I kissed him again and there were no more questions to be answered.”

“Drunken party friends can still kiss, right?” His voice was low and rumbling and I heard my breath catch as I fought to steady my voice. “We’re not drunk.” “You didn’t answer my question,” he breathed. I licked my lips again subconsciously and once again regretted it as I saw his eyes watching me intently. He probably thought I was doing it on purpose to taunt him. “Um.”

“He nodded, his forehead fused with mine. "My head fogs when you kiss me like that. I can't think," he murmured."It does?" I grinned. "I like making your head fog." I kissed him again.”

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” I said, a little breathless. He grinned and pulled me close again.“I said I was a virgin, not a monk,” he said, kissing me again. “If I find I need guidance, I’ll ask.”

“I love you," I tell him again. "I see that," he laughs, kissing me. "Simple words would have sufficed. You didn't need to knock me down with it." I giggle. "Shut up and kiss me.”

“The kiss. Oh, the kiss. What a perfect, unnerving, luscious kiss. He made me feel unhinged . . . like he could take me apart and put me back together again and again.”