and kissed him on the cheek, and his eyes flipped open, like I'd shocked him. For the barest instant, he looked almost wounded. Then I watched desire turn to intention as his eyes narrowed, and he was kissing me.
He groaned, and as our bodies pressed together, I was reminded that he was one-hundred percent male . My breath hitched as the stars above us spun.
I’d only been kissed twice before—once by Jax McIntire at an eighth grade dance, and once before by Nick, after my recital. Neither had been like this (though the first Nick kiss had obviously been an experience).
I felt like the world had been ripped from underneath my feet. I was floating, weightless, like the steam that surrounded us, my only anchor to this world Nick's lips moving hard on mine.
I kissed him back as hard as I could, my hands first on his broad shoulders, then his strong arms, and when I ran out of air I pulled back gasping. Nick was half an inch away, cradling my face between his hands and pressing kisses on my cheeks, my chin, my nose, my neck. Moving down my throat, heating me inside, and I was going to explode.
My hands didn’t stay by my side. I just couldn’t keep them there. Neither could he. We didn’t hit the ball out of the park, but we definitely made it past first base. I remember thinking, as I kissed him, and he kissed me, that if the world ended after all, it was enough.
Nick ducked under the water while I changed. I wasn’t fast, because I was naked and wet, and outside of the hot springs it was freezing. I pulled the dress and jacket on first, followed by my damp socks, followed finally by my borrowed leggings, which I barely managed to get over my legs. When I did finally finish, Nick had been under so long I worried he’d drowned.
“Nick!” I fell to my knees by the springs and peered into the murky fog. He splashed up not three feet from me, and I shrieked.
“Shhhhh,” he hissed, laughing. Once again, the water barely reached his waist, but the moon had decided to bless me with some well-placed light. I was openly staring at the places my fingers had explored, and I blushed deeply. “Even though you wouldn’t think this was important to me, I feel kind of like I need some privacy, too,” he said. I bit my lip and turned my back to him.
“How long can you hold your breath?” I asked as he dressed.
“It’s more like slowing my body down than holding my breath,” he said. He touched my shoulder, and I spun, startled. He was wearing the same khakis and white button-up that he’d had on in the tent, presumably borrowed from the man of the family we’d robbed.He looked completely dry, even his coppery hair. “But to answer your question: roughly ninety-two and a half earth years.”
I shivered, but because of the cold. “I’m impressed. Also by your dry state. Any chance you could hook me up with that?”
He pursed his lips. “Hmmmmm… I could, but it would be faster to get warm in the tent.”
“Ok.” I lowered my voice to a whisper, because the image in my head—Nick, toweling me off—required it. “Let’s, uh…we should try to be quiet as we sneak past Vera.”
He winked, and we tiptoed through a steamy, twinkly dreamscape, back to the tent. We collapsed onto the sleeping bag, and immediately I was cold. “I thought you said I’d be warm,” I complained, and he laughed. “Not immediately. We need to get in the sleeping bag.”
My eyes were so big they bumped into each other. He smiled. “Just until you warm up.”
“Right. I know that. I mean, that’s what I thought.” Milo Mitchell, the least cool 17-year-old on the planet. “Let me just—oomph.”
He hit me in the head with my pillow—not hard, but with enough force that I was shocked, so I didn’t laugh immediately. Which made him worry he’d hurt me, which gave me time to steal the pillow. I reared back to give a devastating blow (he was alien, he could handle it)—but Nick wasn’t in the moon to take abuse. He
He groaned, and as our bodies pressed together, I was reminded that he was one-hundred percent male . My breath hitched as the stars above us spun.
I’d only been kissed twice before—once by Jax McIntire at an eighth grade dance, and once before by Nick, after my recital. Neither had been like this (though the first Nick kiss had obviously been an experience).
I felt like the world had been ripped from underneath my feet. I was floating, weightless, like the steam that surrounded us, my only anchor to this world Nick's lips moving hard on mine.
I kissed him back as hard as I could, my hands first on his broad shoulders, then his strong arms, and when I ran out of air I pulled back gasping. Nick was half an inch away, cradling my face between his hands and pressing kisses on my cheeks, my chin, my nose, my neck. Moving down my throat, heating me inside, and I was going to explode.
My hands didn’t stay by my side. I just couldn’t keep them there. Neither could he. We didn’t hit the ball out of the park, but we definitely made it past first base. I remember thinking, as I kissed him, and he kissed me, that if the world ended after all, it was enough.
Nick ducked under the water while I changed. I wasn’t fast, because I was naked and wet, and outside of the hot springs it was freezing. I pulled the dress and jacket on first, followed by my damp socks, followed finally by my borrowed leggings, which I barely managed to get over my legs. When I did finally finish, Nick had been under so long I worried he’d drowned.
“Nick!” I fell to my knees by the springs and peered into the murky fog. He splashed up not three feet from me, and I shrieked.
“Shhhhh,” he hissed, laughing. Once again, the water barely reached his waist, but the moon had decided to bless me with some well-placed light. I was openly staring at the places my fingers had explored, and I blushed deeply. “Even though you wouldn’t think this was important to me, I feel kind of like I need some privacy, too,” he said. I bit my lip and turned my back to him.
“How long can you hold your breath?” I asked as he dressed.
“It’s more like slowing my body down than holding my breath,” he said. He touched my shoulder, and I spun, startled. He was wearing the same khakis and white button-up that he’d had on in the tent, presumably borrowed from the man of the family we’d robbed.He looked completely dry, even his coppery hair. “But to answer your question: roughly ninety-two and a half earth years.”
I shivered, but because of the cold. “I’m impressed. Also by your dry state. Any chance you could hook me up with that?”
He pursed his lips. “Hmmmmm… I could, but it would be faster to get warm in the tent.”
“Ok.” I lowered my voice to a whisper, because the image in my head—Nick, toweling me off—required it. “Let’s, uh…we should try to be quiet as we sneak past Vera.”
He winked, and we tiptoed through a steamy, twinkly dreamscape, back to the tent. We collapsed onto the sleeping bag, and immediately I was cold. “I thought you said I’d be warm,” I complained, and he laughed. “Not immediately. We need to get in the sleeping bag.”
My eyes were so big they bumped into each other. He smiled. “Just until you warm up.”
“Right. I know that. I mean, that’s what I thought.” Milo Mitchell, the least cool 17-year-old on the planet. “Let me just—oomph.”
He hit me in the head with my pillow—not hard, but with enough force that I was shocked, so I didn’t laugh immediately. Which made him worry he’d hurt me, which gave me time to steal the pillow. I reared back to give a devastating blow (he was alien, he could handle it)—but Nick wasn’t in the moon to take abuse. He
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