Chapter Thirty-Eight
George moves so fast I would have been knocked back a step if it weren’t for his hands clutching my hips, holding me firm.
This kiss is an answer and an oath, a pledge to discover what lies ahead.
There’s no mistaking it for anything other than what it is: our friendship turning into something more.
No more secrets. No more walls. No more being left behind.
We are all laughter and searching tongues.
I can sense the same joy in George that fizzes through me—a bright, bursting happiness.
It’s even more shattering than the kiss we shared in the rainforest. There’s no turning back.
“Does this mean you want a second date?” I ask as George’s lips skate down my neck.
His teeth scrape over my collarbone, then he kisses his way back to my mouth.
His tongue meets mine with insistent strokes, and I pull him closer to me so I can feel how much he wants this.
Wants me. I’m not sure how long it will take to comprehend it.
George wants me. My George. Mine.
“What if I said I want every one of them?” he asks, his fingers tangled in my hair.
I think about how his body felt against mine the morning when I woke in his arms. I think about the scar that sits above his hip. I think about the tattoo. It all feels as if it’s been waiting for my lips.
“I think there’s only one way for us to do this,” I say. “All or nothing.”
His thumb brushes across my lip. “I have so much I need to say to you.”
“My thoughts are a lot more action oriented,” I tell him.
He shakes his head as if he can’t believe it. “Then let’s start with this: You never have to ask if you can kiss me. You have free rein.”
My nose brushes his. “I thought it was a romantic gesture.”
“Are you going to argue with me right now?” He kisses me again. Quick, playful.
“Maybe,” I say, pressing against him. “It feels like you’re into it.”
“At the moment, there’s very little I wouldn’t be into.”
He lowers his mouth to mine. Soon, there’s nothing to laugh about.
Soon, there’s only George’s lips and the scrape of his teeth and the drag of his tongue on my own.
We could be anywhere, or nowhere. My body is elastic, stretching and bending to touch as much of George as possible. My mind is at peace.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” George whispers against my lips.
“Let’s test that theory,” I say. “Let’s go back to our room.”
· · ·
It takes us three times as long as it should to get back to the villa. George! the giddy voice in my head shouts. I’m kissing George! I’m holding hands with George! I’m almost definitely going to have sex with George!
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I say between kisses.
“I can’t believe how many times you’ve said that in the last five minutes,” George says, trying to tug me along another step. But I yank his hand and pull him to me.
He bites my lip and I shiver. I tunnel my hands in his hair, trying to pull him closer, even though there’s no getting closer without breaking the law.
“We need to get back to the room,” I say. He’s hard, and I’m throbbing.
“Agreed.”
“Race you?”
He grins. An eyebrow arches. “I’m faster than you.”
I look at our villa, pretending to consider the distance, and then I take off.
“Cheater,” I hear George call.
I run as fast as I can, holding the skirt of my dress in one hand.
I’m eight years old, tearing through the field to the creek, and then twelve years old, beating him in the one-hundred-meter sprint.
But at any moment George is going to catch up to me.
It’s that thought that has me pumping my legs harder.
I want him to reach me, but I also want to win.
I let out a whoop when my feet hit the path up to the villa, and when I get to the door, I slam my hand against it just seconds before George does the same. He’s right behind me, his breath hot on my neck.
“I win,” I manage to say.
I feel George’s mouth on my shoulder. “You win.”
I dig out the key card from my pocket and unlock the door. I glance at George, then reach for his hand. “I’m ready to claim my prize,” I say, pulling him inside behind me.
I back him up against the closed door, and we’re kissing again, with no doubt as to where this is headed. The hard press of George against my stomach makes me feral. I pull off his jacket and drop it to the floor, then hike up his shirt. Once it’s gone, I go for his belt.
I want to get to know George in a way I never thought was available to me. I’m going to explore every part of him. His collarbone. The divot at the base of his throat. I’m going to put my tongue on his tattoo.
“Frankie,” George whispers as I unzip his jeans.
I know exactly what I want, and I want it now.
I sink to my knees, pushing his pants down his legs.
I stare up at him from beneath my eyelashes as I pull down the edge of his white boxer briefs to reveal the scar above his hip. I press my mouth to it.
I run my tongue over the silver horseshoe. And then I kiss it again, my hand moving to his erection. I want him in my mouth. I want him everywhere.
I hear George swear. I look up and his head is tipped back against the door. I watch his throat bob as he swallows.
He takes a shuddering breath but reaches for me, pulling me back to my feet. I let out a cry of protest and he kisses me sweetly.
“This is our first date.”
“And it was going very well for you,” I say.
“If you were going to do what I think you were going to do, it was only going to go well for about sixty seconds. And I don’t want to embarrass myself.”
“Sixty seconds, huh?”
“Honestly, that may be a generous estimate.”
I laugh. “So how do you propose we end our first date, then?”
“I’ll kiss you good night, and then you’ll go to bed up there, and I’ll sleep down here.”
“Hard no. What is this, Victorian times?”
He looks down at himself. The bare chest. The erection stretching his underwear. “Don’t think so. No.”
“Please stay with me,” I tell him. “I hate thinking of you on the couch. Tomorrow, when I wake up, I want to see you lying in bed next to me. I want to know that this is real.”
It might be the most vulnerable thing I’ve said all night.
“It’s real, Frankie.” He takes my hand and puts it on his heart. “Nothing is more real than this.”
“Stay with me,” I whisper. It’s our first date, but it’s also our thousandth date. “I want to be close to you.”
“Okay,” he says, wrapping his fingers through mine. “How can I say no to that?”
That night, I lie on a bed strewn with rose petals and fall asleep in my best friend’s arms, knowing that I’m safe. And that he is, too.