It was such a sweet thing to say, my breath hitched. Leaf’s gaze dropped to my mouth. Mine dropped to his. He had a ridiculously pretty smile, higher on one side than the other, thick-lipped. I just wanted to—

Him? Yep, okay, him. We’re clear. All systems are go on Leaf.

“Can I, uhh. Can I kiss—” I managed to get out, but then he was there, his head tilting my way. His nose bumped mine as he closed the gap between us. I could smell his breath, sour from dinner and snacks, and I didn’t care, not one bit as he pressed his lips to mine. They were warm and full. They felt good. We were interlocking in a totally organic, lovely way. Not vacuum sealed. Not slurping on one another. It was light touches of soft skin. Brushes. It was a gentle push, a light suck. Nothing wet until he flicked his tongue at me and I opened up and then it was wet, just a little, and then I was wet because apparently second trimester hormones were no joke. I went from zero to hornball crazy in two minutes.

My whole body was warm. I thrummed in all the fun places. I had to ball my hand into a fist to keep myself from going too fast—from touching without permission. The kisses were perfect. Sublime. Letting myself enjoy them at a leisurely pace was so, so difficult but also so, so rewarding.

Leaf’s big hand cupped the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair. I reached for his ponytail, giving it a gentle tug, and he groaned into my mouth, pulling me closer. Chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. He leaned back, taking me with him as he notched his body into the corner of the couch, the armrest at his back. I was sprawled out on top of him. I liked his size and how small it made me feel. I liked how it felt when his hand settled in the small of my back to hold me close, too.

I liked how he looked when he pulled away from me, with a flush in his cheeks. With his eyes big and glassy. With his pulse pounding.

“You are beautiful,” he said quietly, his fingers tracing across my shoulders. “Your skin. Your hair. Your nose. I like the tilt of it.”

“You are, too,” I said, then quickly corrected. “Handsome, I mean. Even my mom said so when we pulled up.”