Page 63 of True Colors

I nod.

I want this.

He cups my cheek, and his thumb brushes against my bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity straight down to my core.

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s whispering a secret just for me. “So, soft.”

And then, he kisses me.

It’s soft. Unhurried. More intention than pressure. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t take. It feels like a question, not a demand.

His mouth is warm, wet. His tongue brushes against mine, tentative at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then he deepens the kiss.

His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I can feel his pulse racing against my fingertips as I grip his shirt, desperate to anchor myself to something real. I moan into his mouth, the sound muffled but loud enough to make him groan in response.

We’re gasping for air, but neither of us pulls away. His lips move to my jaw, trailing hot, wet kisses down to my neck, and I tilt my head back, giving him all the access he wants. His teeth graze against my skin, and I shudder, my entire body trembling like an earthquake.

My heart races. My breathing is uneven. I’m suddenly very aware of being alive in my body.

Oh my God!

My first real kiss.

There were others, technically, years ago—clumsy, unwanted moments I’d never asked for and never counted.

This is different. This one is chosen.

He pulls back slightly, searching my face. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes.”

He rests his forehead against mine for a second, breathing me in, then smiles—slow and a little stunned, like he’s surprised by himself.

He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door for me. He unbuckles my bike and walks it and me to my doorstep. I want to be bold. I want to ask him to come in and stay the night. Finn has women over all the time. I should have a man over, at least, once.

But he’s your boss, Anouk. And, you don’t know anything about sex that you didn’t learn from a porn site.

“Thank you again for today.” He kisses the corner of my mouth.

It’s so soft and sweet. I melt into him. His lips brush against my temple.

It takes a minute or maybe five, but I am finally able to straighten and step away from him.

“Goodnight, Anouk.”

“G-goodnight, Luther.”

I don’t remember unlocking the door.

Or climbing the stairs.

I remember his mouth.

His patience.

The way he waited.

Today is the best day of my life.