Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(77)

His smile fell but not into a frown. Something in him changed, the air between us changing with it. “Does it measure up?” he asked.

My face quirked in confusion. “Does what measure up?”

“First kisses in fiction to first kisses in reality.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

He took a step closer to me. “So…does it?”

“It…it was…” I paused, searching for a word that didn’t exist. “It was fine.” That tepid, cursed word left me before I could catch it and reel it back in.

“Fine,” he mused, taking another step, putting him so close to me that every molecule was full of him, of the smell of him, the feel of him, though he hadn’t touched me.

My only thought was the deep, thrumming wish that he would.

“Tell me, Annie,” he whispered as the candlelight danced across the strong line of his nose and the swells of his lips, “did he hold your face in his hands and understand what he had?” His fingers brushed my skin until they rested in the curve of my neck, his thumb in the hollow of my jaw, his palm soft and warm against my cheek.

He stole my breath along with my ability to move or think. All I could do was listen and feel, held captive by his hands, his breath, his words.

“Did he touch the softness of your skin and tell you how lucky he was?” His thumb shifted reverently against my fevered skin.

He didn’t wait for an answer to his question, and I had none to offer as our bodies merged, my chin lifting so I wouldn’t lose the connection of his gaze. “Did he look into the depths of your eyes,” he breathed, the words brushing my lips as he peered into my very soul, “like the answers to his happiness were hidden there?”

My eyes closed with a flutter as he trailed the tip of his nose up the bridge of mine.

“Did he tell you how beautiful you are, Annie?” he asked.

When he pulled away only by the smallest degree, my eyes opened again, full of desperate desire I saw reflected in his.

“Because you are,” he said. “You are so beautiful, I can’t bear to look. You’ve left me blind and exposed, disarmed and defenseless.”

The length of my body was flush against him, my hands on his chest, my eyes searching his and my lips tingling, my heart thumping its uneven beat.

“Did he worship you, Annie?” he asked, his dark eyes on my lips, his hand splayed across my back, holding me against him with insistence and quiet power. “Did he?” He whispered two words, two syllables that commanded my body and soul, commanded my lips to speak the truth.

“No.” It was a plea, a desperate request, permission and blessing.

His lips curved into a smile as he drew a breath that brought me closer, millimeter by blessed millimeter. And those lips, those beautiful, smiling lips brushed mine, striking all else from my mind.

The moment they touched, they became a seam, a hot, soft meld of lips coupled with a sharp intake of breath. It was demand met with demand, mine for his, his for mine, his body leaning into me and mine leaning back. My arms wound around his neck and flexed, pulling my chest against his, the soft command of his lips sweet and relieved and exalted.

And mine matched his without thought, without expectation, only the rightness of him and the sureness of me.

With a sweep of his tongue, my lips parted. The feeling of his tongue and mine passing each other drew a breath from deep within each of us, as if something in me had been taken and would be found in him.

All I could do was acquiesce, and I did so with more desire than I had known I possessed.

His lips slowed, then closed, and he kissed me once more, capturing my bottom lip gently in his.

I opened my heavy lids and looked into his eyes with the realization that was my first true kiss and that his lips belonged to me as truly as mine belonged to him.

“That was…” My breath trembled.

“I’ve never…” he whispered and kissed me again, as if to test a theory.

Our bodies wound together in answer, as if that was their natural state, the connection of our lips sparking the action without intention.

He broke away once more, that theory proven—there was magic between us, singular to us, latent and waiting to be let free. And now that it was out, we’d never be able to bottle it back up.

“I…I shouldn’t have—” he started.

“Yes, oh yes, you should have. You should have a long time ago.”

With a laugh heavy with emotion and light with relief, he kissed me again, his lips smiling against mine.

When he let my lips go, I was thankful his arms were around me. I didn’t think I’d otherwise be able to stand.

He took a seat, his hand holding mine, his eyes on my gloved fingers as he toyed with them.

“What happens now?” he asked, not looking up.

It was my turn to kneel at his feet and look into his face, colored with worry and hope. “Well, I’d like to kiss you some more. Maybe until I die.”

Greg chuckled, but the sound was tight.

“And tomorrow, I’d like to spend the day with you, if you’d like.”

He watched me, his face unchanged. “What about Will?”

I frowned. “We’re through. After tonight, I hope I never see him again.” When his worry didn’t leave, I reached for his face, peering into his eyes. “Do you believe me?”