Twenty-Two
Holly
Austin hasn’t said anything I haven’t already been telling myself these past couple of weeks, but somehow hearing it from him, it rings true.
I thought I knew how Austin Bailey kissed. He’s usually hungry for me, and I feel it from my head to my toes. His eyes scorching, his tongue searching, his hands frantic on my body. That’s the way it’s been.
Until now.
His hands cup my cheeks as he lowers his head to mine. My phone shuffles, and James Arthur’s “Can I Be Him” plays from the speaker. Our kiss consumes me. The gentle slide of his tongue along the seam of my lips, his hands moving to the back of my head, the soft sound of satisfaction from the back of his throat.
I straddle him, and his hands free my hair from the messy bun, the strands cascading over my shoulders.
