I walk closely behind her as we make our way up the walk to the house. It’s late the next night, and the porch is abandoned.
Cass lets me hug her goodbye at the door, and I revel in how good it feels to crush her soft, voluptuous frame against me.
I almost say it. I almost say I love her like that’s a thing you say when you’ve only shared two kisses and an accidental boob grab.
“I’ll text you later to check on you,” she says.
“You’re the best,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she puts the key in the front door.
“Wait,” I say before I can think better of it.
She turns to me. “Yes?”
I look around. No lights on. No one is looking.
“One more,” I say, claiming her mouth with a deep, hard kiss. Because that’s how you properly kiss the woman you love.
NINE
Cassandra
Titusand I are kissing now.
Titus.Titus.
My childhood crush. I have fervently loved the man since he came into our lives. The one I have masochistically enjoyed having an enormous, over-the-top, unrequited thing for, and had already resigned myself to the fact that he would never love me back, is kissing me.
This is terrible.
Not the kissing. The kisses are soft, warm, and everything I’d ever hoped or imagined—even better. I knew those lips would know what to do with mine. But I never believed I would ever experience it.
And it is more than a peck. He is comforting and sweet. Full of promise. Lustful yet tender. Firm and reassuring. He makes me feel like I’m being wrapped up in my favorite blanket, times a hundred.
Titus.
Oh my god, my poor little heart is doomed.
“Titus,” I breathe, not sure what I’m going to follow that up with.
“Are you sure that’s all you want for now?”
His eyes full of caution and his hands still cupping my face, he nods as I blink up at him, my mind screaming for him to come inside, follow me to my room, and do more. Lots more.
He blows out a breath. “We should go slow. Shouldn’t we?”
“Yeah,” I reply dumbly.
“Good, good. I really like kissing you,” he says, running the pad of his thumb over my chin. Such a simple touch, and yet it makes me feel so treasured.
“I like your saliva,” I blurt.
We both laugh.
“I like your saliva too, Squeaks.”
I playfully punch him in the shoulder. “When are you going to stop calling me that?”
“When I die.”