Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
“Maybe you don’t know me.”
“We both know it’s your boss who doesn’t know you.”
I nod mildly, as if in agreement. “My boss knows the career woman I used to be. You know the woman I am now.” I look up at him, relying on him to ensure I don’t bump into anything or anyone, my steps now blind. And that’s something else I appreciate about Dec. Feeling safe. “Tell me what we were drinking to,” I order gently, feeling my body pushing closer into his side.
He smiles mildly as he looks ahead. “Our first kiss.”
“We haven’t had a first kiss.”
At that very second, he stops us and turns into me, taking my cheeks in his palms gently and scanning my face. Hope is a vise on my sensibility, squeezing it until it finally pops and I’m mentally begging him to kiss me. His jacket falls from my shoulders to the pavement when I reach up to his wrists, clinging to them. “It’s time to fix that,” he murmurs, his mouth slowly falling onto mine. His tongue sweeps my bottom lip, gently encouraging me to open up to him, and my world is suddenly lighter, the black cloud that shadows me constantly lifting a fraction to allow the sun to shine on me. My tongue meets his, warm, lax, and slippery, and follows his pace without much thought at all. To not think feels like a blessing I don’t deserve. My hands slip from his wrists to his strong shoulders, my body pressing closer to him. It’s a slow, peaceful duel, and my entire existence is consumed in this moment.
It will take me forever to get over this kiss, which is fine because I don’t want to ever get over it. Here, now, will be imprinted on my heart forevermore, no matter what happens between us. It’s something I’m thinking about more and more, and to think about it is to worry about it. What is happening between us?
His hands move to my hair, his fingers weaving through the strands, his mouth trailing from one side of mine to the other, giving me brief moments of anticipation before he resumes his mind-spinning assault of my mouth. Feathery soft. Purposely slow. A submissive whimpers ripple through my body.
It's over too soon, despite it being the longest kiss I’ve shared with anyone. And the most passionate. And the most meaningful. Dec’s lips leave mine and rest on my forehead, his chest pressing into mine with his deep inhale. I sense relief. Feel it in myself too.
Suddenly, I have something that could possibly save me.
My heart is begging for that . . . to be saved. My mind is telling me not to be hasty. Don’t depend on anyone but myself.
Don’t be vulnerable.
Because I can’t take any more pain.
“To our first kiss,” he whispers across my skin, pulling back to find my eyes. I’m certain he must be faced with wonder.
And without another word, Dec collects up his jacket, drapes it over my shoulders again, and curls his arm around me, tucking me closely into his side. My belly feels like a swarm of butterflies have been let loose, and my skin tingles madly. I look up at him, in absolute awe.
You made me feel like this, Dec Ellis.
And I think I love you for it.
Jarred by my thoughts and the insane sense of tranquillity inside, I bury the side of my face into his chest, and we walk the rest of the way home in silence. No words are needed, not for now. We both seem content letting the impact of that kiss sink in. Contemplate it. I only pray I’m not alone in thinking that it was the most magical moment I’ve had. At least since—
I swallow, fighting the pain back and the black cloud away.
Take this moment.
Because it’s the first time in too long that I’ve felt peace.
Camden is a hive of festive activity, the normal, expected Friday night drinkers coupled with Christmas shindigs and tourists at every turn making it impossible to walk in a straight line down the pavement. Every other person sports some kind of Christmas getup—a hat, reindeer antlers, a cup of mulled wine or a cone of roasted hazelnuts.
The smell of Christmas is like a deeply rooted splinter. Nothing can get it out, you just have to wait until it fucks off. A seasoned Londoner, Dec gets progressively more impatient and resorts to stepping into the road each time the traffic is clear, pulling me along, checking over his shoulder to make sure I’m keeping up.
My eyes are on his back and his back alone. Nothing else exists.
But there comes a point when we have no choice but to cross the pavement when we’re approaching the turning to my street. I clutch Dec’s hand tighter as he assesses the pedestrian traffic, looking for a gap in the crowd for us to dip through. And when he sees one, he takes off, pulling me through the madness. I feel his coat slip from my shoulders and try in vain to grab it with my spare hand. “Dec,” I say, not nearly loud enough for him to hear me over the Christmas tracks booming from the pub on the corner. I look back, cringing when I see his coat on the damp ground being trampled by the stampede. “Dec!” I tug my hand from his and turn to rescue his beautiful wool coat, but immediately get swarmed, people bumping into me, knocking me, happy faces turning grumpy when I get in the way. “Shit.” I circle, losing my bearings, feeling a sweat sprinkling my forehead. My eyes on the ground, I try to overcome the panic attack threatening, the old familiar sense of suffocation getting me. My heart beats too fast, my palms clam up, my neck burns, no doubt turning bright red.