Chapter 22 Not just a kiss
MICHAEL'S POV
I see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, that quiet hesitation that always makes me want to grin. He doesn’t know how to react to what I just said, and the thought is a little thrilling. I take a step closer, then another, careful but intentional. The space between us shrinks, but I don’t stop. He’s watching me....part caution, part something I can’t quite name. Desire, I think, and maybe that little spark of want he doesn’t dare voice.
I didn’t lie. I went to bed thinking about him. Woke up thinking about him. Those thoughts chased me through the day, threading through every dull moment at work, twisting themselves around excitement and thrill and an insistent, nagging concern I couldn’t quite shake. I’ll let that concern linger for now....he seems better.
I remember last night....his pallor, the way he’d moved as if he weighed half his usual self, and the faint tremor in his hands. He’s brighter today, and I let myself take comfort in that.
Now, he’s standing there, frozen just a couple of steps from me. He’s cautious, yeah, but there’s something else too. I catch it in the way his shoulders are subtly tense, the measured breath that betrays him. Want. I can see it in the quick slide of his eyes to my lips, the way he shifts his weight.
“You quit your job already?” he asks, voice low. “Is that why you had all this time to wait outside the school for over an hour?”
I can’t help the small, amused shake of my head. “No,” I let my hands stay in my pockets for now.....then I step forward again until I’m right in front of him, so close the air between us feels like it might snap if either of us breathes wrong.
“I was halfway through writing the resignation letter,” I say quietly. “Then I chickened out.”
“Why?” he whispers.
That look does something ugly and tender to me all at once. Unguarded longing sitting right there in his eyes like he’s forgotten how to hide it. I don’t think. I just reach out, the back of my fingers brushing his cheek gently. He’s warm under my touch, softer than I expected, and I feel the way his throat works as he swallows.
“I don’t know. I think I’ve been chickening out of things I really want lately.” I huff a quiet breath. “Starting to worry I’m turning into a coward.”
My other hand moves without permission, sliding to his waist, slipping under the edge of his jacket. I keep it light at first...an open invitation, nothing more. When he doesn’t pull away or protest, I press just a little firmer. His body responds instantly, leaning a fraction closer like it’s instinctual.
“The same thing happened yesterday, in the car.”
“What did?”
“I chickened out of something I really wanted.”
His breathing is uneven now. I can see the flush climbing up his ears, the way his gray eyes seem almost silvered. “And what was that?”
I tilt my head, watching him closely. “You said something in the coffee shop. About trying not to collect regrets anymore.”
Something flashes across his face but he doesn’t speak.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” I continue. “Thought maybe I should start implementing the same principle.”
My hand leaves his cheek, but only to slide to his jaw. I cup it gently, thumb tracing along the line of his mouth, lingering over his bottom lip. My eyes drop there helplessly.
“I wanted to kiss you,” I admit. The words feel freeing. “I wanted to so badly it made me stupid. But I didn’t.” A quiet laugh escapes me, self-aware and rueful. “I had to pull over a few blocks later just to sit there and mentally yell at myself for it.”
I look back up at him, letting the truth sit bare between us. Then Ryan’s gaze drops to my mouth. It lingers there for half a second too long before he snaps his attention away, eyes darting to the door, the desks, the very walls.
“We’re at school,” he says quickly. “Where I work.”
“And?”
“It’s....hardly appropriate.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “It’s harmless. A kiss is the most innocent thing I've thought about doing to you,” I lean in just enough to make the space feel smaller. “Me bending you over a desk and fucking you senseless would be ‘hardly appropriate.’”
I watch the flare of heat in his cheeks, the subtle widening of his eyes. His lips part like his brain has short-circuited somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to anticipation. He opens his mouth, closes it again, visibly scrambling for a response that refuses to materialize.
I watch him struggle with it, stunned, those gray eyes narrowing just slightly, sharp as winter frost. “Is that supposed to flatter me?” he finally asks.
“No. If I were aiming to flatter, I’d have complimented you....told you how lovely your eyes are, how your smile makes the world seem like it’s breaking in just the right way.”
I step closer, I can feel the faint heat radiating from him, that tension coiling in the air. “I wasn’t aiming for flattery,” I continue, my voice dropping an octave. “I was aiming to excite you. And by excite, I don’t mean ‘thrill.’ I mean....” I watch the way his chest rises, “....turn you on.”
His eyes flick down, and I can see the internal battle raging there. “I got that,” he says after a beat, almost breathless. “....But thanks for the clarification.”
“So, did it excite you? Are you picturing it?” I sweep my gaze across the classroom, letting the silence of the empty desks stretch. “I bet the acoustics here would do wonders for your moans.”
His hand shoots out, pressing to my chest. “Michael....that's enough,” he warns.
I grin, leaning just slightly into his hand, letting the warmth of his push press against me. “Fine, my moans then.”
And then he does something that surprises me, pushes me back against the wall. His hand is firm against my chest, and I can feel the tension coiling through both of us. His eyes are challenging and hesitant....but there’s no fear, not really. Desire is blazing there.
“Don’t push it,” he breathes.
“I don’t push,” I counter. “I accelerate interest until it becomes impossible to ignore.”
I can see the heat in his eyes, the flush creeping up his neck, the way his fingers tremble just slightly against me. My own pulse is hammering with the thrill of watching him wrestle with it, watching him fight and fail to keep that control he thinks he has.
I lean closer, letting my forehead nearly brush his. Every instinct in me is screaming to take it further, but I hold just long enough to watch that struggle, to watch desire break through the hesitation.
His breath fans over my lips, warm and shallow, and I feel that tiny tremor of restraint he’s holding back. I can feel him, want him, and God, it’s intoxicating.
“Go ahead Ryan, put us both out of our misery,” I suggest. My lips hover just inches from his.
He swallows, eyes darting around like the world might collapse if he actually leans in.
“Maybe misery suits me,” I catch the subtle hitch in his breath. “Or maybe I like the torture.”
I shake my head slightly. “But I don’t. I kind of miss being able to function normally. Without craving something so badly it steals my focus, my patience, my damn self-control....”
Before I can utter another word, he closes the distance. His lips brush mine at first, testing, and I inhale sharply, caught off guard by the immediacy of it. Then he presses harder, insistent almost. The kiss deepens, and I melt into it without hesitation, my own hands rising to frame his face, fingers threading into his hair.
It’s consuming, more intimate than I expected. I can feel the weight of him pressing close, the subtle curve of his tongue against mine, tasting....exploring. Every exhale, every soft groan against my mouth sends something electric down my spine.
I’m lost in the scent of him, the way his hands move with careful insistence over my body, anchoring me yet making me want more. Time dilates until there’s only this, the raw pull between us and the undeniable ache building under my skin.
When we finally part, even slightly, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling. His grey eyes are darker now, stormy, and I feel how much he wants this in ways that go deeper than touch. And I realize that in this single, stolen moment, I’ve already lost myself completely.