His mouth seemed to melt against my flesh, and I reached up and put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. There was this onslaught of sensation, the feel of his lips on me, his hypnotic scent, his soft hair against my fingertips. I tried to pull him closer. He was so good at everything he did, like he was a master musician and I was his instrument.

When he reached the part of my throat where my scars were, there was no hesitation. It was no different to him than any other area of my skin. He didn’t seem grossed out by it like I imagined a man would be. He didn’t even seem to care, which made me blink back some unexpected hot tears. It was just another part of me that he wanted to touch and kiss, and my heart utterly melted over his actions.

Then I kept opening my eyes to look at him, to make sure I wasn’t making this up. How could it feel this amazing? I tried exploring him with my touch, to follow the shape of his high cheekbones, his strong jawline, the cords in his neck, the way his shoulders flexed beneath my hands. But I kept getting distracted by what he was doing. Currently he was teasing the skin along my collarbone, and my abdomen tightened, swirling with heat and want.

He was enchanting me, using my body’s reactions against me. Not against me, against my phobia. And it seemed to be working. I wanted this feeling to go on, to expand. So that when he kissed me, it would be like this, only a thousand times better.

My skin felt pinprickly and warm, overly sensitized from his lips, and he was acting like he had all the time in the world to explore and enjoy me. His kisses were so delicate and gentle and swoonworthy that I had to imagine it would be the same when he finally kissed me.

Along with this fear/anticipation/excitement mixture I had going on, I was starting to feel frustrated. I wanted more. Even if it meant I was going to have what felt like a ten-minute-long heart attack, it would be worth it.

So worth it.

“Were you planning on kissing me sometime tonight?” I asked, and my voice sounded airy and desperate.

He pulled back, and the grin he was sporting reached into my chest and wrapped itself around my heart.

“I’m working up to it.”

If he worked any harder, I was going to be rendered unconscious. I didn’t know how much more of his teasing I could stand. “I think you’ve sufficiently worked up to it.”

He ran his fingers over my lips, and I trembled, closing my eyes for a second against the warmth that crashed into me.

“Juliet.” The sound of his voice, rough with longing, made me open my eyes again. “Can I kiss you?”