He’s looking at my lips in the dark hallway, and I lick them. His body turns tense against mine. I can feel the way his muscles harden. There’s maybe an inch between us, but we’re connected by invisible strings. I can feel every line of tension, every point of wanting.

His head descends, a dark shadow.

“Tell me to stop,” he mutters against my lips.

It’s already a kiss, those words. I close my eyes. A tear leaks down the side of my cheek. It’s not sadness. It’s more than that. It’s desire. It’s feeling anything at all after being numb for so long. I’m more afraid of this than a free fall down the cliff. “Don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” he says, wrapping his hand around my throat. Choking me, but without the pressure. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes me feel strange, as if I’m being possessed. “You’re too innocent for the things I want to do to you.”

“What do you want to do to me?”

“Everything.”

There’s fear. Of course there is. He can make me feel things.

I don’t know if I can ever close Pandora’s box again after this. What does everything even include? He’s too much for me in every way, but I still want a taste.

I want to open the lid and peek inside.

“One thing,” I whisper. “You can do one thing to me.”

It’s surrender and a request at the same time. I want this much from him, this slice in time. We’re not in his room. Not in mine. I can pretend this hallway is neutral territory. That this won’t change anything. He presses his lips against mine. They’re warmer than I thought they’d be. Softer. He lets me get used to him there for a moment before pulling back. And then again. I’ve been kissed a few times. It feels like the mashing of lips. It feels like being plundered. This is entirely different. He brushes his lips against mine again, this time from a different angle. A million nerve endings become alight. I let out a shuddery breath.

His hand moves from my neck to my jaw. He tilts my head back so I’m open to him. He looks down at me with a dark expression I take as a warning.

There’s only a narrow window of world. My eyelids feel low. It’s a trance-like state, a dreamy place where my body is liquid and he’s hard as rock.

He brushes the backs of his knuckles across my clavicle. And down my arm. It occurs to me how naked I am compared to a regular day. My nightgown isn’t revealing. It’s a plain gray cotton. Nothing sexy, but he looks at me as if he’s enraptured.

My nipples are hard points against the thin fabric.