The Kiss We Never Finished 🥀 [EXCERPT]

All I ever wanted was to love him, cherish him, and make him mine...

What I foolishly thought was going to be a sweet teenage romance between me and my so-called college crush... turned out to be your typical teenage drama... filled with intoxicating pheromones and unrequited love.

But even if the back of my mind knew that—even if I kept telling myself no, that I should end it all—I couldn’t stop myself. Especially with the way he touched me. The way he wanted me. The way he made me feel... The way Preston Usher—my classmate and friend—kissed me...

“Preston...”

I whispered his name softly, like a prayer.

His lips brushed against my skin, dangerously close yet agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of warm kisses along my jaw, my neck, and collarbone, as though I were someone special to him—someone he truly desired.

His body pressed gently against mine as he positioned himself between my legs, my skirt slowly rolling up as he allowed me to wrap my legs around his waist like a kitten clinging to its master. His hands caressed my thighs, slowly and possessively making their way up to my waist.

We were all alone in the university library.

It was just us. Only us. No one around. Only the books, dim lights, and furniture stood as our witnesses.

The library was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the sounds of heavy breathing and soft, wet, intoxicating kisses, mixed with occasional moans and his quiet grunts.

All I could feel was his warmth. His body.

HIM.

Preston.

Preston was the kind of guy who enjoyed the things he loved without caring much about what anyone else thought. He knew what he wanted, but no one could fully see what else was beneath those dark-blue eyes of his. There was something charming about him, something dominating—a quiet, effortless kind of charm that no one else seemed to notice.

But I noticed.

The way he smiled. The way he laughed. The way he looked at things he liked. The way he’d rotate his wrist whenever he was thinking. Or the way he’d thin his lips whenever he was caught off guard.

I always had noticed.

For a moment, we continued with our usual make-out session—quiet, careful, but also hungry. His lips found my neck again, and I instinctively tilted my head, giving him more room. My fingers curled lightly against his shirt as my heart raced beneath my chest. A moan escaped me again, and I had to bite my lip to silence it.

But then, he groped my waist, slowly up to my breast. It tickled, making me gasp and tremble.

From that moment on, I forgot where we were.

Forgot that he was only my friend.

Forgot that I had spent so long convincing myself that whatever this was between us could never become something more.

Because right then, with his lips against my skin and his arms around me, it was so easy to believe otherwise.

Maybe this meant something.

Maybe, finally, he was beginning to see me the way I had always seen him.

At least... that’s what I hoped.