Chapter 15: Not on a Bench

Brody did not move for a full second.

Then he put his hands on my face, very carefully.

"Say it again," he said.

"Touch me."

He kissed me.

It was nothing like the tunnel.

It was slow and sure, and he took his time with it.

His thumbs stroked my cheekbones.

His mouth opened mine, and I heard myself make a sound I would have been embarrassed by a week ago.

I pulled at his hoodie and got it up over his belly, then over the tape on his shoulder, and he helped me with his good arm.

His skin was hot.

I put my palms on his stomach and felt it jump.

"You're shaking," I said.

"So are you."

"I'm cold."

"You're a liar."

I was.

He walked me backward until my legs hit the bench, and he sat me on it, and he knelt on the concrete in front of me.

My heart slammed.

"Nate's going to come back," I said.

"Nate's finding a sandwich. It takes him forty minutes."

His hands slid up my thighs and stopped at the top of my jeans.

He looked up at me.

He didn't ask.

He waited, and the waiting was the worst thing he had ever done to me.

"Take them off," I said.

He popped the button and dragged the zipper down, and I lifted my hips so he could peel the denim away.

The cold air hit my skin, and then his mouth was on the inside of my knee.

He kissed his way up slowly, one leg and then the other.

"Brody."

"Yeah."

"You're doing it on purpose."

"I'm doing it every way I can think of."

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