Page 160 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“But what if—”

“Simone,” he says, his voice breaking with desperation. “Please let me kiss you. I’ve wanted to every fucking day for the past year, and it’s been torture. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than this if you don’t want it to. I just…need to know if your lips feel as good as I’ve always imagined them.”

I can’t speak; I just nod.

When he kisses me, the world goes quiet.

I’ve never felt heat through my entire body the way his lips on mine make me feel. It’s more intense than I was prepared for.

He moves both hands to my face, pressing his lips slowly into mine—warm and soft and unmistakablyhim. Everything stops, and my mind is completely blank, filled only by the sensation of his lips, the faint taste of alcohol and mint on his breath, and the way I feel so intoxicated by these intense feelings. It’s all too much and too perfect at the same time.

Then he deepens it. Just a little. Enough that my knees feel like they’ll give.

I let out a small gasp, and he takes it as permission, tilting his head and exploring the way I taste and feel, letting his tongue stroke mine. His thumb traces my jaw again, while his other hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.

The kiss isn’t rushed or messy. It feels consuming and catastrophic in the most powerful and dangerous way, like he’s pouring every moment he’s held back into the way his lips move against mine. I feel it everywhere, in my chest, in my stomach, down my spine, like a wave of sinful heat crashing into my body that makes me forget where I am, makes me forget why I ever told myself this was a bad idea.

It sets me completely on fire.

I kiss him back just as desperately. My hands grab onto his shirt, needing to hold onto this moment with him. He makes a groaning sound against my lips, and that alone sends another wave of pleasure through me, knowing that I have this power over him right now, that I’m making him feel as good as he’s making me feel.

He presses his body closer to mine, turning us and pinning me against the dresser.

For one beautiful moment, everything makes sense in this room, and with him. Then reality crashes back in.

I pull away first, heart pounding so hard it hurts, my forehead resting against his as I try to remember how to breathe.

“Oh my gosh,” I whisper, half laughing, half panicking. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he just smiles—it’s small and sweet and a little hazed by the alcohol…and probably lust.

“Maybe not,” he says, then his voice gets lower, softer for me, “But I’m glad we did.”

I let out a shaky breath, my pulse still racing, my lips tingling where his just were seconds ago.

“I don’t want to do anything that will ruin our friendship, Mase.”

He pulls me back closer to him, kissing the top of my head. “I won’t let that happen.”

“We—we can’t tell anyone that just happened.”

“Okay,” he says softly.

“And we probably shouldn’t do that again…should we?”

He pulls back just enough to look at me. “Nothing has to change. We can stay just friends. But…is it okay if…I also like kissing you sometimes, too?” He leans down, whispering, “Because it’s kinda addicting.”

A shiver runs through me, head to toe.

“This feels like it could get messy,” I admit.

He smiles again. “We won’t let it.”

I nod, not really sure if I believe that’s possible.

He takes my hand and leads me back downstairs, back into the noise and the lights and to all the people who are all trying to drown out the real world.

We walk side by side, his fingers brushing mine, sending these waves of electricity through my body that I’ve never felt before.