Chapter 11 Eleven: Tristan

• The elevator door opens directly into the suite, but I can’t summon the willpower to stop kissing Lia and step off. I can’t believe it—this is the first time I’ve kissed her with tongue. I didn’t realize before that my hands were touching, our bodies rubbing, even our lips pressing. But we haven’t kissed properly, wetly, until now. It’s a practice for young people. Children. At least that’s what I thought before.
• Now, I’m not sure how I’ve survived a single day without her whimpering mouth opening up for mine, offering her tongue like a sacrifice. Our height difference puts her much lower than me, so her head is tipped back, her fingers winding in the front of my shirt. She’s usually so smooth, so practiced in her flirting, but the kiss seems to undo her, as much as it’s undoing me, and she can’t remain balanced on her toes, stumbling sideways, trembling. Until I pick her up again and she sighs, like a happy angel, wrapping her thighs around my waist.
• And we go on kissing.