The week went by in a blur, the kind that made my chest tighten because there was never a moment that was truly ours. My parents hovered at home, every conversation and chore tethering me to them. Chloe and Lizzie commandeered every free evening with plans, errands, or last-minute adventures, leaving almost no time for just the two of us. Homework piled up like a wall I couldn't scale, assignments bleeding into late nights, leaving barely a second to breathe.
Even in Art History, our one class together, there was never a single moment to linger. As soon as the lecture ended, we were swept up in the tide of students, backpacks slung over shoulders, rushing off in different directions. By the time I even caught a glimpse of Tristan, it was always fleeting: a shared kiss in the hall, a quick brush of hands, a few words stolen between classes.
But then there were the texts, short, urgent, impossible to ignore. Come over. Now.I can't stop thinking about you. Heavy, electric, and racing, each one hit me like fire, leaving me trembling in the tiny cracks of time he managed to carve out in the chaos.
By Friday night, the five of us, me, Tristan, Chloe, Lizzie, and Blake, ended up at Shattered. The chaos inside was still there, but softer somehow, the crowd burning off the last of its energy before surrendering to the late hour.
While Chloe, Lizzie, and Blake danced and laughed on the floor, Tristan and I huddled in the corner booth, a private island of heat in the middle of the chaos. We'd been there for hours, lips colliding in stolen kisses, hands tracing, pausing, teasing along scarred ribs and taut lines of muscle. Every brush of his fingers sent a jolt through me, every tilt of his head made my chest tighten, every whispered word was a spark threatening to ignite.
I leaned back against the booth, but he leaned closer, chest pressing into mine, crimson eyes dark and magnetic. The music thumped around us, but it was nothing compared to the rhythm building between us, each heartbeat hammering louder than the bass. Our breaths mingled, shallow and desperate, and when our lips parted, it was only to gasp before finding each other again, teasing, needing, dangerous.
It was well past midnight when Tristan caught my hand again, tugging me toward the dance floor.
"One more," he said, and the heat in his gaze made it impossible to say no.
The music had slowed, the bass low and steady, curling around us like smoke. His hands settled at my hips, warm through the fabric of my skirt, and I stepped closer without thinking. We moved in time to the beat, not a performance, not a spectacle, just the two of us syncing without trying.
His gaze stayed locked on mine, steady and unhurried. There was no rush in his expression, no push for more than I was ready to give. Just… there. Present.
When the song faded, he didn't let go. "Let's head out."
We said our goodbyes to the others, a flurry of "Be safe!"s and "Let me know when you get home!"s washing over us, voices overlapping as we tried to squeeze in one last laugh before stepping away.
Outside, the cool air hit sharper at this hour, the streets stripped bare of their usual noise. The neon from Shattered buzzed behind us, painting the cracked sidewalk in fractured reds and blues. Somewhere in the distance, a lone siren wailed, then faded.
We fell into step without thinking, shoulders brushing, fingers occasionally threatening to touch.
"You dance more than you let on," Tristan said after a stretch of quiet.
I laughed quietly. "That's a nice way of saying I'm terrible."
"I didn't say terrible," he countered. "Just… that you hold back. Like you're worried someone's grading you."
I arched a brow. "And you? You didn't exactly look like you were auditioning for anything either."
"That's because I wasn't dancing for anyone else." His voice dropped, low and private, almost lost to the quiet streets. "Just you."
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I looked away. "Smooth."
"I don't do smooth," he said, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. "I just say what's true."
We passed a closed café, its chalkboard menu still propped outside, the night air blurring the white chalk into faint, ghostly smears. I slowed for a heartbeat to read it before catching up again.
"What about you?" he asked suddenly.
"What about me?"
"Why Shattered?"
I shrugged. "Because Chloe and Lizzie wanted to go. But… I also invited you over tonight since my parents are at Kari's volleyball tournament and I don't really wanna be home alone."
His eyes lifted, sharp and amused, but there was something warmer underneath. "Ah. So the plan was always… private."
I could only grin, a little flustered. "Maybe."
"That's not what I meant." His gaze softened. "You looked… restless there. Like you were chasing something. Or trying to outrun it."
The words landed heavier than I expected. I could have lied. Almost did. But instead, I said quietly, "Maybe both."
He didn't press, just nodded, like I'd given him enough.
The block narrowed as we moved into my neighborhood, streetlamps flickering in and out as the branches overhead swayed in the faint breeze. The late-summer air smelled faintly of rain, even though the pavement was dry.
"I've been meaning to ask," I said, glancing over at him. "Those sketches you were working on… what were they of?"
"Nothing important." He paused, then added, "Just something I had a dream of."
"That's terrifying."
His mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Yeah."
We walked a few more steps in the stillness. Then, without warning, his thumb brushed over the back of my hand. Small, but enough to send a ripple through me.
"Was Shattered better than you expected?" he asked.
I exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Better than I expected."
By the time we reached my porch, the light had clicked on automatically, casting its warm halo over the steps while the rest of the street was swallowed in shadows.
Before I could reach for the door, Tristan's hand closed around my wrist, pulling me back against him. His mouth crashed into mine, hot and desperate, a kiss that stole the air straight from my lungs. I clung to him, hands full of his jacket, giving back every ounce of hunger he poured into me. The world fell away—just heat, lips, breath, the thrum of his heartbeat under my hands.
When we finally broke apart, I was flushed and breathless, smiling against his mouth, a little teasing, a little shy.
"I guess inviting you over worked," I whispered.
His grin was wicked and soft all at once. "Yeah… it did."
By the time we finally stumbled inside, my lips still tingled, my pulse unsteady. I kicked the door shut behind us, trying to catch my breath.
"Do you… want anything to eat?" I asked, my voice softer than I meant, like offering food might tether me back to normal.
Tristan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "No. I'm good."
We climbed the stairs together, quiet except for the creak of the steps and the hum of the heater. In my room, I slipped past him toward my dresser, nerves prickling under my skin. My fingers fumbled with the drawer as I pulled out a t-shirt and sleep shorts.
"I'm just gonna… change real quick," I murmured, glancing at him.
He caught the look and, without a word, turned his back, giving me space. He leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely, his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling as though determined not to slip.
I let out a small breath and quickly changed, tugging the shirt over my head and smoothing the fabric down, my cheeks hot.
When I was done, I whispered, "Okay."
Tristan turned, and the second his eyes landed on me, something flickered in them—heat, restraint, a tension that twisted through the air between us. He didn't say anything right away, just let his gaze linger a beat too long, enough to make my skin prickle.
I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly shy. "What?"
He shook his head slowly, lips curving. "Nothing. Just… you."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It thrummed, alive, like one wrong move would tip us straight back into the kind of kiss that left my lungs burning.
The air felt too thick, too charged to ignore. I shifted on my feet, pretending to straighten the blanket on my bed, but Tristan's eyes never left me. That look alone unraveled me—like he was holding himself back by sheer force of will.
I swallowed. "You can… sit, if you want."
He crossed the room in a few strides, settling onto the edge of my bed. I sat beside him, close but not quite touching. For a moment, the silence was unbearable, all pulse and breath and nerves.
Then his hand brushed mine. A spark shot straight through me, and before I could second-guess it, I leaned in. Our mouths met hard, nothing tentative this time—hungry, reckless, like we'd been starving for it all week.
The warmth in my chest deepened, pooling low. I shifted closer, close enough that I could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing against me. The space between us, all of an inch, felt charged, deliberate.
His hand slid from my wrist up my arm, over my shoulder, and settled at the back of my neck. The heat of his palm there made my skin hum. I let out a small, shaky exhale, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
When he leaned in, it was as if the world narrowed to just us. His lips met mine with a fierce, searing hunger that stole my breath, and I clung to him as if letting go would undo everything. The kiss was slow at first, tasting and teasing, then suddenly deeper, more demanding, his tongue tracing mine in bold, insistent strokes that made me weak.
His hands weren't gentle anymore; one was tangled in my hair, tugging me closer, while the other roamed down my back, pulling me flush against him. I pressed into him, lips and body, needing every inch of him, and he responded in kind, tilting his head, chasing every movement of mine with his mouth. Each kiss built on the last, faster, sharper, more urgent, lips parting, tongues dancing, breaths hitching.
Then he groaned low and rough against my lips, a sound that vibrated through me.
"I want you so badly," he murmured, almost breaking the kiss to say it.
"I want you too," I whispered back, my hands clutching at his shirt, pressing him closer, letting him feel the truth in my words as plainly as I felt the heat between us.
He bit lightly at my lower lip, moaning again, and I shivered, responding with desperate, searching kisses. We swayed together in the small space, losing ourselves in the fire of it, lips never breaking contact, hands roaming, hearts hammering in sync. Every pause was just long enough to breathe before his lips were back, feverish, insistent, tracing my jaw, my neck, my lips again and again.
Finally, when we broke apart, it was only a hair's breadth. Foreheads pressed together, breaths ragged, hearts pounding, our need for each other palpable. His thumb brushed my cheek, lips capturing mine once more, slow, deep, reverent this time, a promise as much as a kiss.
"You're safe," he murmured, voice rough, thick with want and certainty.
And in that moment, as my fingers curled into his hair and my body molded to his, I believed it completely, lost in the heat, the passion, the intimacy, and the undeniable truth that we were exactly where we were meant to be.
I nodded, my breath coming unevenly, and closed the gap again. God, this is really happening.
Am I ready? Yes... no... yes, with him. I trust him.
This time, the kiss wasn't gentle; it ignited, heavy and urgent, as if we'd both been holding back for too long. His lips parted mine with a hunger that mirrored the ache building in my chest, his tongue sweeping in to taste me, slow at first, then deeper, more insistent, a sensual dance that made my pulse spike. The flavor of him, faintly minty from the gum he'd chewed earlier, layered with the subtle salt of his skin and a hint of the night air clinging to him, flooded my senses, dizzying and addictive. He tastes like safety, like everything I've been missing, like he's mine in this moment.
I met him fully, my hands sliding up to grip his shoulders, fingers digging into the taut muscle there, feeling the strength beneath his skin as if to anchor myself to this moment, to him. But underneath the heat, a flicker of nerves sparked. This was new, uncharted, my first time stepping into this kind of intimacy. My heart raced, a wild drumbeat, not just from desire but from the vulnerability of it all, a heady mix of excitement and a quiet fear of the unknown that made every touch feel electric, amplified.
What if I'm awkward? What if it hurts? But... what if it's everything I've imagined with him?
Tristan's hand at the back of my neck tightened, his fingers threading deeper into my hair, tangling in the strands as he tilted my head just right to deepen the angle, his lips molding to mine with a precision that felt both practiced and instinctive. His other palm pressed flat against the small of my back, the heat of it searing through my T-shirt as he pulled me flush against him, our bodies aligning so closely I could feel every inch of him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the subtle flex of his abs against my stomach, the hard line of his hips.
He's so solid, so real. I need this, need him.
My skin flushed hot under the thin cotton, a warmth spreading outward from where his hand pressed. I arched into him instinctively, a soft gasp escaping when his teeth grazed my lower lip, tugging gently with just enough pressure to send a jolt straight down my spine, igniting a spark in my core. He soothed it with another deep kiss, his tongue stroking mine in a slow, deliberate rhythm that left me breathless, my lips tingling, swollen from the intensity. The world narrowed to the rhythm of our breaths mingling, the wet slide of mouths, the way his stubble rasped lightly against my chin, leaving a faint, tingling burn in its wake that made me hyper-aware of every point of contact.
Every sensation is so intense... is this how it's supposed to feel? Like I'm unraveling?
He rolled us slowly, his weight settling over me without crushing, one thigh slipping between mine, the denim of his jeans rough against my bare skin, creating a delicious pressure that made my core clench in anticipation. The friction sent a spark straight through me, pooling low in my belly as a wave of warmth spread outward, making my thighs tremble slightly.
Oh... that feels... I want more. So much more.
I hooked a leg around his hip, drawing him closer, feeling the solid length of him pressing against my thigh through his jeans, a noticeable bulge that hinted at his arousal, firm and substantial, stirring a mix of curiosity and nervous anticipation in me.
He feels... big. Is that normal? Will it be too much?
He groaned into my mouth, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against my lips and echoed in my chest, sending a thrill through me.
He's as affected as I am. That sound... It's because of me. I did that.
His kisses trailed down, hot and open-mouthed, along the curve of my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear, where he nipped lightly, his teeth grazing the tender skin before his lips soothed it. His breath was warm and ragged against my pulse point, the scent of him, clean soap mixed with a faint musk and the crisp night air from his drive over, enveloping me, grounding and intoxicating all at once.
"Winter," he murmured, voice rough and edged with need, the word a vibration against my skin that sent shivers racing down my arms.
Hearing my name like that... It's undoing me, like he's claiming a piece of me with every syllable.
I hesitated, my fingers stilling in his hair, the soft, slightly damp strands slipping through them. The words stuck in my throat for a second, my cheeks burning as vulnerability washed over me anew. Memories of past hesitation surfaced, moments when I felt pressured to give more than I was ready to. But Tristan wasn't like that; he was different, patient, willing to wait for me. Just tell him. He won't judge. He's Tristan.
"Tristan... this is my first time." My voice was barely a whisper, my eyes meeting his in the dim glow from the nightstand lamp, its soft light casting shadows across his face. I half-expected everything to shift, for the moment to shatter, for him to pull back or look at me differently.
He paused, lifting his head to look at me fully, his dark eyes searching mine, deep and steady, like he could see every doubt swirling in my head. His expression softened, with no trace of surprise or judgment, just tenderness and that steady intensity that made me feel seen, truly seen, as if I were the only thing in his world right now.
"Hey," he said gently, his voice a low rumble as he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face with his thumb, the calloused pad catching lightly on my skin. The touch was feather-light, reassuring, grounding me in the moment.
"We don't have to rush. We can stop right here if that's what you want."
His thumb continued tracing my cheekbone, slow and deliberate, while his other hand rested lightly on my hip, no pressure, just a warm presence that felt like a promise.
"Or we can go slow. Whatever feels right for you. I'm here for you, okay?"
The reassurance unlocked something in me, easing the knot of nerves twisting in my stomach. It wasn't just words, it was the way he held still, giving me space, his gaze patient and warm, like he'd wait forever if I needed him to.
He's perfect. How did I get this lucky? He's not pushing, not assuming. He's just... here.
"I don't want to stop," I whispered, my voice gaining a little strength as I pulled him back down, my fingers curling tighter into his hair, the strands soft and grounding in my grip. "Just... be with me. Show me."
He nodded, a small, understanding smile flickering across his lips, before his kiss turned softer, now more deliberate, as if he was savoring every second, mapping me out with each press of his lips.
"I've got you," he promised, voice low and steady, laced with a protectiveness that made my chest ache in the best way, a warmth spreading through me that wasn't just physical.
Those words... they make me believe it, make me feel like I can let go.
His hand slid under my T-shirt, palm skimming up my side with exquisite slowness. The rough calluses from his guitar playing caught lightly against my ribs, sending shivers racing across my skin, goosebumps rising in their path. I was consumed by a mix of sensations—anticipation tingling through every nerve and a flicker of vulnerability, as if exposing more than just skin. He paused at the edge of my bra and caught my gaze, checking for permission. I nodded, breath hitching in anticipation, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it. With tender curiosity, he continued, cupping me gently at first, his thumb brushing over the lace-covered peak with a feather touch that sent sparks dancing across my skin, tightening my nipples instantly.
That touch... It's like fire, but the good kind, setting me alight.
He teased slowly, circling with the pad of his thumb, building the sensation until quiet moans slipped out unbidden, my body responding in ways that felt both overwhelming and right, arching toward him as heat built between my legs, a pulsing need I'd never felt so strongly before.
I never knew it could feel like this, so much, so fast, like my body's waking up for the first time.
I tugged at his shirt, needing more, needing to feel him closer, to even the vulnerability, to know I wasn't the only one baring myself. My hands trembled slightly as I gripped the hem.
I want to see him, touch him too, make this real for both of us.
He broke the kiss just long enough to yank it off over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside to the floor with a soft thud. The reveal of his bare chest, the taut lines of muscle, the faint scars from old injuries I'd glimpsed before but never touched, made my mouth go dry, my breath catching in my throat.
He's beautiful... scarred, but strong, like he's carried so much and still stands tall.
Tentatively at first, my hands roamed, tracing the warmth of his skin, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under my palm, the hard planes of his abdomen contracting under my fingertips as I explored lower, down to the waistband of his jeans, the denim rough against my fingers. He sucked in a sharp breath when my fingers dipped just beneath, brushing the button there, his eyes darkening with restraint, pupils blown wide.
I did that. Me. I'm making him feel this way.
"You're killing me," he said, half-laugh, half-growl, the sound husky and affectionate, his voice rougher now, like he was barely holding back.
He claimed my mouth again in a kiss that balanced urgency with care, his lips firm but tender. But he kept the pace unhurried, his hips rocking against mine in slow, deliberate rolls that pressed his arousal, firm, thick, and intimidatingly substantial, against me, building a delicious tension without overwhelming me, each movement sending ripples of pleasure through my core, making my thighs clench around him.
The friction... It's building something inside me, something I can't control, something I don't want to control. But he feels... so much. Can I handle it?
We shed our clothes gradually, his jeans first, the zipper a soft rasp in the quiet room, revealing black boxer briefs that did little to hide his size, the outline clear and daunting yet thrilling. Then my T-shirt lifted over my head with his help, his eyes drinking me in with quiet reverence, as if I were something precious.
He looks at me like I'm everything, like I'm more than I've ever felt.
My bra followed, unclasped with steady hands, the cool air hitting my bare skin before his warmth covered me again. Then the rest, my shorts and underwear, his, came off in a tangle of limbs and whispered check-ins.
"This okay?" he'd murmur, waiting for my nod, his voice a low anchor in the storm of sensation, until we were skin to skin, the heat between us electric, his body warm and solid against mine, every point of contact igniting new sensations, making my skin hum with awareness.
Bare like this... It's scary, but with him, it's freeing. I've never been this exposed, but I want it with him.
He was patient, his mouth traveling lower with feather-light kisses along my collarbone, lingering at the hollow of my throat where my pulse fluttered wildly, a rapid beat under his lips. Then down to the swell of my breast, where he paused, his breath warm against my skin, before his lips closed around a peak, warm and wet, his tongue flicking gently at first, then with more intent, circling and teasing until I gasped his name, my back bowing off the bed as a surge of pleasure shot through me, my nipples hardening under the attention.
Holy... that's intense. Don't stop. Please don't stop.
His free hand caressed the other side, mirroring the motion, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers with a tenderness that made me whimper, while his stubble grazed my skin, adding a layer of texture that heightened every sensation, making my body feel alive in ways I'd never imagined. Lower still, his hand slid between us, fingers tracing teasing patterns down my stomach, circling my navel, dipping into the curve of my hip, leaving trails of heat in their wake, before venturing lower, until they found where I ached most, slick and ready, my body responding to him instinctively.
Touch me there... yes. Oh, yes.
He stroked softly at first, exploratory, parting me with a gentleness that made my breath catch, his fingers gliding with care, learning the rhythm that drew soft whimpers from my lips. He watched my face with dark, intent eyes, adjusting to every hitch in my breath, every subtle shift of my hips, as I came undone under his touch, the new sensations washing over me in waves, building, cresting, until I was trembling with need, my body taut like a bowstring.
It's too much... no, not enough. More. I need more.
"Tristan," I breathed, hips lifting instinctively to meet his hand, the pleasure coiling tight and insistent in my belly, mingled with that edge of uncertainty, the unfamiliarity making it all sharper, more vivid.
I'm so close... is this what it's like? This overwhelming pull?
"I've got you," he whispered, voice thick with emotion, his forehead resting against mine for a moment, our breaths mingling, before he shifted slightly, reaching toward his discarded jeans on the floor.
What's he doing?
He pulled out a small foil packet, a condom, and caught my gaze, a question in his eyes, his expression soft but serious.
"Just to be safe," he murmured, his tone reassuring, as he tore it open with steady hands and rolled it on carefully over his length, which was thick and prominent, the sight making my breath catch with a mix of awe and nervous anticipation.
He's... bigger than I expected. But he's careful, he'll make this okay.
The simple act grounded me further, easing that flicker of nerves, reminding me I was safe with him in every way, that he was as invested in my comfort as in our connection.
He shifted to align us, pausing there, the tip of him pressing gently against me, his breath ragged but controlled, his eyes locked on mine. "You sure? We can wait, there's no rush."
"Yes," I said, my voice steadier now, laced with trust as I pulled him down for another heavy kiss, tongues tangling slow and deep, tasting the shared desperation, the need that pulsed between us.
I want this. With you. Only you.
He slid into me, slow, so slow, inch by careful inch, giving me time to adjust to the stretch, the fullness of him, substantial and overwhelming yet tempered by his care, that bordered on ache but bloomed into something deeper, more connected. It stung at first, sharp and unfamiliar, a brief pinch that made me tense, my nails digging into his shoulders as I sucked in a breath, my body instinctively resisting the new sensation.
Ow... breathe. It's okay, it's him.
He stilled immediately, murmuring soft words against my lips, "Breathe, Winter. Just breathe. Relax into it", his hand stroking my side in soothing circles, his thumb rubbing gentle patterns along my hip until the discomfort eased, fading into a building warmth, a sense of completeness that made my eyes flutter shut, my body softening under him.
It's passing... now it feels... good. Right. Like we're one.
Then he moved, a gentle rhythm at first, each thrust measured and careful, shallow at the start, giving my body time to adapt to his size, the friction turning from tentative to exquisite as I relaxed into him. Our bodies synced in a dance that felt intimate, vulnerable, his hips rolling with mine, the slide of him inside me creating waves of pleasure that radiated outward, making my toes curl and my breath come in soft, uneven pants.
This connection... it's everything. Deeper, please, I can handle it.
My nails scored his back lightly, leaving faint trails, his name a soft chant on my lips as the tension wound higher, the initial nerves giving way to trust, to pleasure that built like a tide, steady and overwhelming. His mouth found mine again, kisses messy and fervent, swallowing my cries, small, breathy sounds I couldn't hold back, as release crashed over me, stars bursting behind my eyes, intense, shattering in its newness, my body clenching around him in pulsing waves that left me boneless and gasping, my limbs trembling with the aftershocks.
Oh my god... that was... I didn't know it could feel like that, like I'm falling apart and whole at the same time.
He followed soon after, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face in my neck with a muffled groan, his body tensing, muscles cording under my hands, his breath hot against my skin as he found his own release. He relaxed against me in a heavy, satisfied weight, his chest rising and falling with deep, steadying breaths. We lay there, tangled, our breaths slowing in unison. His hand stroked lazy patterns along my hip, up my side, his fingers warm and reassuring as he pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead, then my temple. The gesture was so tender that it made my heart ache.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, pulling back just enough to search my face, his eyes soft with concern and something deeper, more affectionate, like I was his world in that moment.
"Better than okay," I whispered, a small, shy smile breaking through as a flush of warmth spread through me, not just from the afterglow, but from the closeness, the way he'd made it feel safe and cherished, like my first time was something sacred to him too.
This changes everything... and I wouldn't have it any other way. He made it perfect.
In the quiet aftermath, the house felt truly safe again, not empty, but full of life. Full of us, and this first step into something real, something that lingered in the air like a promise, warm and unshakable.
"This was your first time?" he murmured, voice low, careful. "What about Eric? Did you…?"
I swallowed hard, heat flooding my cheeks, but the truth spilled out in a whisper. "No. We never… I was too scared to. He… he always pressured me. Like it was something I owed him. And sometimes he'd get angry when I said no."
Tristan's hand stilled, his eyes darkening with something fierce and protective. His hold tightened slightly, and he drew a slow, calming breath, exhaling deeply, as if he was absorbing the weight of my words into himself.
I kept going, voice trembling now. "That's part of why I think he was cheating. Because if he really cared, he wouldn't have pushed me like that."
He didn't say anything for a long moment, just held me a little tighter.
Then he spoke, quiet but certain. "You deserve so much better than that. You deserve to feel safe. To want it, not be forced."
I felt the old pain unclench, replaced by something softer—a fragile hope.
"I'm glad it was with you," I whispered, voice thick with something like healing.
Tristan brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, his smile gentle. "Me too."
He kissed my temple, my cheek, my lips, slow and unhurried. I cuddled up to him, face against his bare chest.