“Yes,” I responded impatiently. “And if you drag this out any longer, you’re not going to get the chance to kiss me first,” I warned him as he put his hands around my waist, pulling me close to him. He leaned in closer so that we were breathing the same breath.

My threat seemed to amuse him. “Because you’re going to kiss me?”

I tried to say, “Yes,” but he swallowed up the word by finally, finally, finally putting his soft, full lips on mine.

He pressed against me, holding himself there for a second, hesitating in the moment, like he was trying it out but ready to pull back quickly if I told him to.

I had no intention of doing that. Those blue butterflies had returned, and they were everywhere, underneath every inch of my skin. They fluttered and sent warm, shimmery shivers in waves throughout my body. This was incredible.

Then he kissed me for real, his mouth sweet and impossibly tender, almost loving, but strong and insistent.

It felt like I was drowning in him, and I wanted to let him pull me under.

I made it an entire ten seconds before my nervous system freaked out. I tried reassuring myself, saying I was fine, but I couldn’t just mind over matter this thing. I wanted his kiss and hated that this was my response. Those ten seconds had been transcendent.

Because he’d been right—we both got to feel the same incredible sensations at the same time, and I loved that.

I pulled back and he immediately released me, taking his hands away and stopping all contact.

Which was not what I wanted.

So I put my arms around his neck and held him close. His breathing was labored and harsh in my ear. A second later his arms slipped around me and pulled me against his chest. When he breathed in, I felt the expansion of his chest, the way his heartbeat thundered against me.

All of this soothed me as I clung to him, letting this anxiety attack out and knowing that he’d do whatever I wanted, would support me in any way that I asked him to.

When his own breathing had calmed, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

I will be. I repeated the words in my own head. It was going to be true. I loved kissing Noah and how it made me feel during those precious ten seconds, and I was determined to keep doing it.

So an hour later we tried again with all his teasing and showing me what he’d called earlier his “best stuff” and just how capable he was. And we tried again an hour after that. Each kiss lasted a bit longer; each anxiety attack seemed a bit shorter and less intense.

After the third round, when I was feeling exhausted from pushing so hard, he was cradling me on his lap, holding me close.