***"She's saying***
***Baby, come and follow me***
***There's not a bad thing here tonight***
***Save your reasons all for later***
***Stay with me a little while."*** *- Jimin*
***Alissa Blake***
The first time we kissed was kinda awkward. Neither of us had any experience with it, and despite our genuine feelings, we were just kids discovering the world. But now, we were adults, rediscovering something I thought was lost.
I wasn’t someone who gave in easily. I hardly had intimate contact with anyone. A kiss was already a big deal for me, and if it wasn’t with someone I truly cared about, I felt worthless.
It wasn’t good; it didn’t make sense. And that made me have high expectations when it came to Holden.
I knew we were heading toward something. I didn’t know how long this adventure would last, but I understood that we both needed confirmation that this was real, that it wasn’t just nostalgia speaking louder.
Well, at least I needed that.
Holden, with his irresistible charm, dragged me onto the dance floor, and suddenly the music made sense. It felt like fate was delivering what we needed to recognize the signs. Or maybe I was just being romantic and delusional.
But being there with him, under those lights, made me see him in an even more beautiful way. Holden was kind. Despite being intrusive since our teenage years, he was a gentleman.
He waited to know if he could make every move, even the simplest touch. He didn’t act without me first giving consent, whether with words or just a look. He knew how to decipher me.
He wore a loose shirt with a cyber-tribal print. His hair was messy from the helmet, but the waves still fell perfectly over his face. Those eyes could light up an entire room, and that smile left me completely ungrounded.
But most of all, he had my favorite scent—a mix of tangerine and wood, a subtle yet masculine aroma.
So, when I finally realized I truly wanted this, that it wasn’t just an illusion of my mind, I gave in.
A touch—that was all it took for me to feel it was right. As soon as my fingers met his skin, it was like magic. I felt the electricity he had mentioned, the nonsense I thought was just a line to win me over.
It was as if we were connected, and the moment my lips met his, everything made sense.
It didn’t take long for the softness of the kiss to be overtaken by desire. The intensity of the touch was visceral—I wanted him, but Holden fought for control, dominating the moment and showing that he could handle it very well.
“I think this place is private, but not quite. We need to control ourselves,” I said, breathless, with a silly smile refusing to leave my face.
“You can’t be all over me in public, Alissa Blake.” Holden let out a cynical laugh before stealing a light kiss. “If you’re tired, I can take you home.”
He said it kindly, but something about ending the night like that left me frustrated. I wanted more of him.
*“I don’t think I want to go home,”* I admitted shyly. This awkward demeanor didn’t suit me.
Holden stared at me for a moment, so absorbed at the moment that it took him a while to understand. I raised an eyebrow, and he caught on, making me laugh.
Holden’s apartment was a reflection of him: welcoming, uncomplicated, and a bit chaotic.
A mix of unpretentious sophistication and details that made it clear he was a musician. Guitars leaned strategically in corners, stacks of records, and notebooks with lyrics scattered across the table.
I was sitting on the couch, slightly tipsy from the drinks but mostly from his presence.
It was hard to pretend the tension between us wasn’t there, almost tangible. It wasn’t just chemistry; it was the weight of years of distance and unresolved feelings.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, coming from the kitchen with two glasses in hand.
I nodded, smiling. “I don’t know if I can get used to this.”
“To what?” He handed me the glass and sat next to me.
“To you. To this.” I gestured around the apartment. “To everything feeling so... right.”
He looked at me for a moment, and his smile was different, softer.
“I feel it too,” he replied, taking a sip. “It’s good having you here, Ali. It’s been a while since I felt this... complete.”
His words hit me like a punch and, at the same time, like a hug. It was so typical of him to be sincere enough to undo me without even realizing it.
“It’s good being with you too,” I murmured, gathering the courage to admit it.
He stood up, walked to the improvised bar in the corner of the room, and began preparing another drink. I watched him—the relaxed way he moved, the slightly open neckline of his shirt, the tattoos on his arm contrasting with his ever-charismatic and welcoming demeanor.
On impulse, I got up and walked to him. Before I could overthink it, I climbed onto the bar counter that separated us.
Holden looked at me, surprised, but a smile started to form on his lips.
“If I knew my house would make you climb furniture, I would’ve invited you over sooner,” he joked, placing the drink in my hand.
I tasted the sweet liquid, the flavor of peach filling me. “I love this,” I said, leaning slightly toward him. “It’s sweet and addictive.”
He tilted his head, his gaze fixed on mine. God, that face made me want to have his babies.
“The effect is similar to what your lips have on me,” he replied, and before I could react, he leaned in.
When did he become so flirty?
I set the glass aside, my fingers still trembling. When he was just inches away, my arms automatically wrapped around his neck, and I intertwined my legs around his waist.
The first touch was electric. I felt the years I’d spent pretending I was fine without him dissolve in an instant.
He kissed me as if he had been waiting for it as much as I had. It fit so perfectly that I wanted to cry.
My heart was racing, but for the first time in years, it felt like things were falling into place and making sense.
Holden, however, seemed to be trying to hold back the intensity. He pulled back slightly, holding my face in his hands.
“I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Just your company is enough for me.”
I laughed nervously and touched his face. “Holden, you’ve never needed to pressure me.”
It was true, and I didn’t need to say anything more for him to understand I was ready.
He carried me from there to the bedroom, a space that was clearly his refuge, filled with details that made me feel like I knew him even better.
I was right; he could lift me with just one arm. He picked me up as if I weighed nothing, walking through the large rooms as if it were a casual stroll.
My hands explored every inch of his skin like an amusement park I was eager to take charge of. It had been so long—ages since I felt this way, this full of desire.
Holden awakened in me a part I thought was dormant, and I was grateful to find it very much alive.
When he took off his shirt, it was like dying and going to heaven. His body was surreal. The tattoos made sense, and his ethereal face made sense. He looked sculpted—a damn Bernini sculpture.
He didn’t wait long to get rid of his pants, leaving only the black boxers he wore. He walked toward me, standing still like a god, leaving me speechless without doing anything.
And then, when I needed to ask, to beg for him to come on top of me, he teased, “You really want this, Ali?” His concerned tone made me laugh, not out of humor but out of happiness. Holden hadn’t changed; that precious side of him was still there.
I wanted him more than ever. It was time to stop denying it.
*“I’ve waited years for you, Holden Young. I want this. I want you.”*