Chapter 5 Total Eclipse of the Heart
BONNIE TYLER
The corner of his mouth tips up into a slow, wicked smile.
“Kiss you?” he repeats.
He doesn’t believe me.
I hardly believe me.
I don't say or do shit like that.
And a part of me knows
that the second we kiss, it's over.
We’ll haunt each other long after.
When Brandon kissed me, I counted,
and nothing happened.
Andrew just exists,
and suddenly I'm a kid again,
spinning too fast
on the park's merry-go-round,
jumping off,
feet hitting the ground,
dirt flying,
world dizzy,
and he's the only steady thing I can hold on to.
“Kiss me,” I repeat, quieter.
A confession. A surrender. A death sentence.
I hear Elle’s echo—
He gives girls the fantasy.
Just enough to make it feel real.
Then her voice breaks apart, swept up by the violins spilling through the speakers.
His smile fades.
His eyes trace the shape of my mouth,
jump back to my eyes,
down again.
He swallows hard.
“Fuck. You’re serious.”
It’s not a question.
I hold his gaze, burn it into him.
“Dead serious.”
A faint smile finds him.
It’s there—weak, then gone.
Like he’s tucking it away
and doesn’t want me to see it.
His hands shake,
the craving humming under his skin,
as if touching mine
is the only thing that’ll shut them up.
The bookshelf creaks when I press my back against it.
He steps closer.
And closer.
Watching me—
my eyes, my mouth, my hands.
He’s searching for doubt.
He’s waiting for me to stop him.
I don’t. I won’t.
Instead, I lift my chin, tempting him.
His grin sneaks back up,
full of ache he’s trying to suppress.
My fingers white-knuckle the wooden shelf,
a death grip to strangle the silent scream.
A thump, thump, thump rattles in my ribcage.
He notices everything—
the jump in my chest, the pulse in my throat.
He keeps coming closer.
And closer.
Then he doesn’t need to come closer.
He’s already here.
So close his breath hits my jaw.
“You’re not stopping me,” he rasps,
the final warning scraping out of him.
I shake my head slow.
I don’t want him to stop. I want this.
I want him more than I should.
The evidence is everywhere,
burned into my breath, seared into my skin,
tearing me open so it all spills out—
it’s fucking impossible to hide.
“You want me to stop you?” I whisper.
His pupils swell black,
drinking me in too deep.
He’s sinking.
“No.”
His voice goes under with the rest of him.
He lifts his arm,
fingers gripping the shelf above my head.
Then he leans closer,
and the wood creaks with him.
He lowers his head,
his mouth hovering, stalking slow.
His warm breath’s teasing my lips,
testing my patience,
daring me to cave first.
Then the rest of the world dissolves.
There’s no Type No. 45.
No New York City.
No space between us.
There’s only him.
His eyes, navy turned ink.
His mouth, slow and artful.
His breath that’s tangling with mine.
A muscle in his jaw pops.
He’s fighting, holding himself back.
He’s struggling.
So I lift onto my toes,
my lips barely brushing his.
A graze. A sigh. Hardly anything at all.
Andrew sucks in a breath,
lashes fluttering,
eyes slipping shut.
When I pull back,
his breath shudders out of him.
I lower back onto my feet.
And his mouth follows, chasing mine.
He breathes me in,
a lazy drag of lips over lips,
his mouth sweeping over mine so slow
it’s torture.
Each brush strums my veins,
vibrations rippling through the fretboard of my spine.
Then another graze.
Another trace.
A trailing.
His heavy eyes inch up,
landing back on mine.
Drowned, drenched, navy-devastation.
We lock eyes. And this is it.
This is the part in the song where the beat drops.
Where everything quiets for a breath.
Only to slam back harder.
Then—
He kisses me.
Finally.
Sweeping me up in it,
as if he’s been suffocating,
dying.
Its resonance moves through me,
slow-burning, thrumming,
hot buzzing between my thighs.
A whimper escapes my throat,
and it breaks him.
His lips fall open.
His body shudders.
His control snaps in half.
And he sinks into me,
his tongue sliding into my mouth,
dragging warm across mine,
sedating and deadly.
The taste of espresso on his tongue.
Cinnamon in his breath.
And we’re gone.
The stack of albums slips from his arm,
tumbling to our feet.
We’re falling into this kiss
like we’re falling through the floor.
As if we already hit the ground,
but just keep going.
His hand finds mine,
the one gripping the shelf.
His is warm and trembling.
Like this moment’s been trapped inside him too long,
and now it’s flooding out.
He guides it to the nape of his neck
and presses me into his skin.
He wants my fingers on him.
He needs them on him.
More. More. More.
He licks into me slow,
catching my bottom lip,
then grinds in his tongue,
sinking back into my mouth,
dismantling me, piece by piece.
As if he’s been here before
and spent a lifetime trying to find his way back.
His mouth is hot, wet, and I deepen the kiss.
Andrew moans into me.
I melt into him.
I want his body crushed against mine,
but it’s not.
I want his hand between my legs,
but it’s not.
He’s close, but not close enough.
His body is skimming mine, teasing,
his cologne soaking the air around me.
I rake my fingers up his scalp
and into his hair.
He only kisses me deeper,
fuller,
pouring himself into me.
As if it weren’t just with lips and tongue
but with his whole body.
It’s just a kiss.
Like Brandon’s kiss was just a kiss.
This is what I tell myself.
But it’s not just a kiss.
Not at all.
My mouth parts,
and he whispers into it, voice shredded,
“I ain't even lost. I’m so fuckin’ found right now. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’. Can’t think. I just—fuck—I got no words.”
Then he’s kissing me again,
like that’ll explain it better.
“Swear to God, I could keep kissin’ you
“and kissin’ you…
“and kissin’ you…”
Then his mouth’s back on mine,
and I feel it and feel it,
warmth sliding its fingers through me.
“Madonn’, you’re gonna have to push me away if you want me stoppin’.”
Another kiss.
His breath stumbles.
“But fuck, Sonny—don’t.”
“You stickin’ with Sonny?” I whisper, chest heaving.
He pulls back to look at me,
eyes drowning,
and he drops his forehead to mine.
“Anyone else callin’ you that?”
“No.”
Another kiss. “Then yeah. I’m callin’ you Sonny.”
His mouth opens over mine,
tongue sliding in slow and drunk on us.
And I feel him in places no one’s touched.
Places I never let be touched.
His lips slide away,
skim my cheek,
tracing heat.
Until they reach the shell of my ear,
and my stomach soars.
“This ain’t just me, right?” he whispers.
“Tell me I ain’t the only one feelin’ this.”
He kisses behind my ear.
A slow kiss.
A shaky kiss.
“You dropped straight down into me...
“now you're fuckin' everywhere…”
His mouth brushes my neck next.
“I’m tryin’ to keep it together but—fuck—
“I’m gone.”
That’s the line, right?
Is he giving me a fantasy?
Is this the part Elle warned me about,
where he says all the right things
to make it feel like more?
I want to believe him.
Fuck, I want to believe him so bad.
I grab his hand and bring it to my cheek. “You think you’re the only one losin’ your shit?”
He looks at me,
an exhale scattering out of him on the way.
Then he sinks into me, forehead to forehead,
fingers hook under my jaw,
thumb brushing my cheek,
then lower,
sliding it across my lip,
easing it open.
He doesn’t crash into me,
he collapses.
Head angled, mouth open, kissing me deeper,
tongue, breath, all of it,
with his whole fucking chest,
pulling me into him.
I don’t want air,
but I need it to keep kissing him,
so I pull back.
“I don’t wanna stop,” I confess,
my gaze dragging down his body,
the words falling out of me—airless.
We’re whispering,
even though I forgot we’re in a bookstore.
We could be anywhere right now,
on a rooftop,
in a crowded street,
on the moon,
and we’d still be whispering.
Andrew’s nose grazes mine.
“I’m not about to fuck this up.
“I’m doin’ this right.”
Wait—“What do you mean?”
Now I’m sweating.
He lifts his chin, brows lifting too.
“This ain’t some throwaway thing for me.”
He wants more than tonight.
I can’t think about more than tonight.
Not with his breath on my lips
and his heart damn near pressed to mine.
Not with everything screaming—
don’t fall, don’t feel, don’t fuck this up.
I glance toward the front of the bookstore,
then back at him,
lip caught between my teeth,
heart caught between choices.
“I’m only thinking about right now.
“Nothing beyond this.”
This is a choice—mine.
So I hold onto it—tight.
Because I’m too terrified to exist outside of this moment.
Because this feeling might never come back.
There’s a chance the second I walk out that door, this—the thrill, the heat, the needing to be touched—will be gone.
Might only ever come around this once.
I don’t want to wait.
I want now.
I want him.
While it feels like this.
Before reality catches up and ruins it.
I’m in control—swear.
I need this. I can handle this.
Andrew stands taller,
reaching for my hand
that’s gripping the back of his neck.
At first, I think he’s pulling me away.
Until he slides our joint hands down to his chest,
and settles it there, right in the center.
The heat of him pumps through his shirt.
And he wets his lips.
“When you say nothin’ beyond this,
“you sayin’ only tonight…
“or only for now?”
He says it, pained—
a man who read the last page of a book
he should’ve never cracked open.
I hate it. “I’m sayin’ if you never see me again after tonight… would you still want me now, even if tonight’s all you get?”
Andrew’s head drops fast,
hearing the ending behind the words.
“Dio mio… perché adesso?”
The words leave him in a cursed whisper.
“Questo è il castigo, huh?”
His laugh breaks halfway through, bitter.
Then he lifts his head again,
eyes not meeting mine but looking past me,
at the door,
at the version of us that almost happened.
“Yeah, okay. Should’ve fuckin’ known—”