12. Human Genetics #3
Pulling back, I’m sure tears streaked my makeup. Andreas caught my face in both hands, cradling my cheeks. There was a moment of silent negotiation. Should we kiss now ? his eyes seemed to ask.
We had to, obviously. It was expected. It was required.
Andreas leaned in. I closed my eyes. Our lips met. And this first kiss was nothing like I’d imagined it would be when we’d discussed it in the car.
I’d expected his part to be cold, calculated pressure, a kind of mechanical lip touch that was only technically a kiss.
Instead, his lips were soft, lingering, warm.
He kissed me slowly, like he was savoring me, and for a second the world went fuzzy at the edges.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might bruise, and I felt my body melt into him.
When he eventually pulled back, I was legitimately dizzy, and I was certain my face was flushed, and I had only one thought in my head.
Jesus fucking Christ, he has amazing lips.
Something greedy and reckless took hold of me.
I grabbed the lapels of his suit and pulled him closer, intent not just on playing my role but on giving myself something I’d never forget.
I wanted him, to know if the memory of his mouth would match the daydreams of my youth.
My lips crashed into his, not gentle or tentative, but decisive, demanding.
I pressed into him, feeling the solid, unyielding line of his chest through my dress, and let my tongue trace along the seam of his lips.
For half a beat he tensed, as if surprised by my boldness, then surrendered without hesitation. But then, I’d warned him there’d be tongue. Hadn’t I?
His lips parted and I pushed inside, the heat of him igniting something ferocious within me.
Andreas made a low, involuntary sound—somewhere between a moan and a gasp—a tiny, startled noise, the kind I’d only ever heard in moments of genuine surprise.
The fact that I’d ripped it out of him made adrenaline zing down my spine and I pushed for more.
He responded in kind. His hands, previously gentle and scripted for the crowd of restaurant staff, clamped onto my lower back with purpose.
His grip was solid, fingers digging into the silk of my dress and hips, pulling me flush against him until there was nothing between us, no room for anything but the incendiary heat of our bodies.
In that moment, I was hyper-aware of the way his forearm flexed along my side, the hard tremor of his ribs against my own, even the delicate scent of the cologne he wore, now mingled with the citrusy tang of wine.
This second kiss was so much wetter, so much noisier, so much more ravenous.
My hands climbed to the nape of his neck, threading through the soft hair, and I felt the shiver run all the way through him.
I was distantly aware of movement in the background, a clink of glasses and the hum of waitstaff blurred together.
But the only thing that really existed was the hot slide of his tongue against mine and the pressure of his body pinning me to the moment.
He broke away just enough to catch his breath, but when he tried to pull back, I chased him, biting at his lower lip.
I felt him smile, felt his teeth graze my own, and that was enough to make me laugh out loud, giddy and breathless.
He swallowed the laugh, mouth returning for another kiss, and this time he took control, grabbing my hair and angling my head back with a yank so he could kiss me deeper.
I let him, because I wanted it—I wanted it so badly my pulse was thrumming in places I’d been neglecting for years.
His tongue flicked against my own and my whole body lit up with goose bumps.
I heard myself make a soft, desperate noise, and I would have been embarrassed if I’d had the capacity for shame.
His hands moved, one splayed across my back while the other cupped my jaw, thumb stroking down my neck, hot palm sliding to my shoulder, fingers playing with the strap of my dress.
I opened my eyes for a second, saw his were still closed, and suddenly I was terrified, because for an instant I wasn’t sure if he was still acting or if this was real, if he could possibly be feeling even a fraction of what was detonating inside me.
That thought had me pulling away, my lungs burning, and I blinked at him.
He stared back, pupils blown so wide, his eyes looked almost black.
His lips were swollen, his face flushed with heat, and for a flicker of a second, I thought he was going to say something, actually say something real, but instead he just yanked me forward, quick and sharp, and kissed me again.
I felt the ring on my finger press against his cheek.
I couldn’t have said how long we stood there, locked together in the center of that restaurant, kissing each other.
For all I knew, we had stopped time itself.
I slid my hands down from his hair, traced his jaw with my thumbs, tried to memorize every detail of this moment because I knew it wouldn’t happen again.
It is a special circumstance, he’d said.
Which meant, this was it. This was my one and only chance to kiss him. He’d agreed in the car. This was allowed.
And, worse, this was the best kiss of my life by far , a fact that was so dismaying I almost laughed just to keep from crying. Because I’d promised myself I’d never let anyone get under my skin like this, never allow myself to get carried away.
But hadn’t Andreas Kristiansen always been the exception? He’d been grandfathered in, before my life had gone to hell, and I’d cared about him so deeply before I understood the potential danger, before I?—
Abruptly, there was a loud pop. We flinched apart, Andreas’s hands still locked on my back.
I blinked at my surroundings, spotting the waiter and the sommelier from before standing nearby, holding a silver bucket with an open bottle of champagne.
The friendly sommelier was smiling, the waiter trying desperately not to.
Mercifully, Andreas let me go, just enough to turn and face the onlookers. He slid his hand down my arm, threading his fingers through mine, and I let him. I also let him kiss my hand, soft and old-fashioned. For a second, I fought the desperate desire to pull him back in for another round.
I had to remind myself why we were here, what this entire spectacle was really about.
With this reminder, the world snapped back into focus.
I glanced past the sommelier, scanning the room for anyone who seemed out of place, anyone who might be watching for Tobias or Henrik, and spotted a waitress behind the manager slipping her phone back into her pocket, her eyes shifty.
Mission accomplished ... I guess.
Meanwhile, Andreas’s thumb slid over my knuckles, slow and deliberate, and the sensation was so intimate I almost forgot my own name.
I let myself lean into him one last time, pressing my cheek against his shoulder, breathing him in.
He rested his chin lightly on my head, and I said goodbye to the fantasy.
Mourned it. Because out-of-control longing wasn’t for me.
But it had been lovely to pretend, if only for a little while.
The waitstaff descended upon us with congratulations, the bottle of champagne, and two flutes already filled to the brim.
The manager offered her own best wishes, beaming at us as if she’d played a role in our engagement.
I tried to smile, to play along, but I felt hollowed out, like a building gutted by fire.
I didn’t dare look at Andreas for fear of what I’d see there.
Or what I might show him in return.