“Fuck. I’m sorry. I was dreaming and . . .” I hear his swallow in the darkness.

I roll to face him, but I can barely make out his silhouette in the inky blackness. “What were you dreaming about?”

He releases a raspy chuckle. “Isn’t that obvious?”

I bite my bottom lip. “So who were you dreaming about, then?”

He lifts his hand to my face, tracing the line of my jaw. I wish I could see his eyes, his expression, anything that might hint at his thoughts. “I thought that might be obvious too,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. You fell asleep, and I didn’t want to leave, but I never meant to—”

“It’s fine,” I blurt. Please don’t stop. Please don’t tell me you don’t want this.

His hand stills on my jaw. “It’s not. Touching you while you’re sleeping. That’s . . . It’s not cool.”

“I . . . liked it.”

He’s silent for a long beat. Is he sorry I stole his easy out, or is he reconsidering his decision to throw the brakes on what we started in our sleep? “Yeah?”

“Do you want to . . .” I swallow hard. I want his hands on me again. I would trade all my pride for the relief of his touch. “Do you want to keep going?” As soon as the question is out, I wish I could snatch it back. Too needy, too desperate.

His fingers slip from my jaw and run down my neck—so slowly that the speed of the touch itself is a seduction. Rough fingertips graze my collarbone, and I bite back a moan. I never would’ve imagined my collarbone could be an erogenous zone. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

My breath catches. Maybe I can have this. Here in the dark. Just once, before he returns to his new life and forgets about me. “I’m not asleep now.”

“Neither am I.” His voice is as rough as the fingers slipping over my sleep shirt and between my breasts. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Please. I’m shaking. I barely trust myself to speak, so I nod and hope he can make out my consent in the darkness.

His mouth finds mine, and my whole body clenches at the electricity in the contact. It starts with a brush of lips, then a hand in my hair and his tongue touching mine. I swallow a moan and inch closer, parting my lips farther.

His kiss is nothing like I imagined it. It’s better. Every stroke of his tongue stokes the fire inside me, tightens that sweet ache between my thighs.

When he breaks the kiss, we’re both breathing hard and my lips feel swollen. “I wanted to do that last spring. I wanted to be your first kiss.”

“You were,” I admit. “That was, I mean.”

His breath leaves him in a rush. “I’m not sure I trust myself with you.”