Shift

“I wasn’t scared,” I croak out.

Dustin laughs out quietly before looking up at me from under his golden lashes. The faint smile tugs on one side of his mouth more than the other, that same sloppy grin he wore when we were kids and Mom gave us ice cream. I think I’ve loved him my entire life, but it took seeing that face—the mix of i

“I mean it. I wasn’t scared,” I insist, ungluing my feet from the hole they’ve dug in my carpet. I step toward him, noting the way his hands move to his knees and his shoulders roll as he straightens his spine.

“No?” he whispers, lifting his chin as I come closer.

“Uh uh,” I say, shaking my head.

My heart is racing, the beats so fierce I’m sure my skin is pulsing. I can’t breathe, yet the air is coming in and out so fast. Hours ago, I flew through the desert at a hundred and sixty miles per hour yet the five feet I just slowly crossed were far more terrifying.

I reach toward Dustin’s right hand just as he lifts it from his knee and our fingers twine, our touch soft and timid. So many times he’s held my hand through things—through haunted houses and rushing across highways. This touch, though, it’s different.

Palm to palm, our fingers fold together as we stare at the way we fit. His bronzed skin marred by grease, my pale pink fingers ringed with twists of gold. Lady and the Tramp. I step in closer, raising my left hand to his cheek and skimming along the roughness of his whiskers. He leans into my touch as my fingertips dive into his hair. The curls wrap around me, soft and cool.

As Dustin’s eyes close, his free hand moves from his other knee to the belt loop on my shorts. Hooking two of his fingers through the denim, he tugs me close. I straddle his legs instinctually, and when I feel the slight pull at my waist followed by the gentle tickle of his fingernails along my bare midriff, I take his lead and lower myself until I’m sitting on his lap, my knees bent on my bed.

Our hands untether and as mine roam along his neck, his drift up my body to my shoulders, then eventually push into my hair, twining the strands around his knuckles with a forceful grip that echoes the feeling in my chest—the feeling of wanting something so badly yet holding it out of reach because you know you shouldn’t. We shouldn’t.

His eyes bore into the divot at the base of my throat. I let my head fall forward until it rests against his, my view of his lashes, the sharp angles of his cheeks, and the line formed by his jawline—a line that wasn’t there a year ago. Everything about Dustin is grown up and ready for the world. I’m convinced he’s going to leave a massive mark on this life—on anything he touches. On me.

“Ha

I close my eyes at the feel of his chin lifting, our heads rolling against each other. His nose drags against my cheek as his mouth lifts to meet mine, and I let a tiny gasp slip through my lips as I pant and wait.

“We shouldn’t,” he says. His breath dances against my cheek, crawling around my neck and filling the slight space between us with his own intoxicating drug.

“I know,” I agree, both of us doing little to stop.

He takes a careful nip at my upper lip, and a small whimper slips from my mouth in response. The sound drives him in for more, this time his lips clamping around mine, sucking in with a gentle pressure that completely melts me into his body. The more I sink into him, the stronger his grip is in my hair until one hand trails down my spine, lower and lower still until it sinks into the back pocket of my shorts and pulls me into him.

There’s nothing subtle about his lips on mine now, and I hold nothing back either. We’re holding each other as close as we can without literally becoming one. His tongue works inside my mouth, tasting me and filling my mouth with his sweet spearmint aftertaste. All of this—his scent, his body, his mouth, his skin—is as I’ve imagined when I lie awake at night and fantasize about a world where I’m not his best friend’s little sister. And right this moment, that’s the last thing I am to him.

His fingers curl in my pocket, nails scratching against the denim as he grips my ass and holds me tight against his hard body. Hard everywhere. I find myself wanting to nudge him farther back into my bed so I can press into him even more. I roll my hips against him to release the pressure, but the only thing it does is make me crave more. I do it again, and Dustin tugs my hair gently to tip my chin up and release our kiss. His teeth grit as hooded eyes meet mine. He’s lost to this as much as I am. We passed the option to turn back long ago. The only choice now is to wring every last pleasure out of this forbidden indiscretion.

Dustin bites at my chin, his lips softening the cut of his teeth with a kiss that he trails along my neck. His tongue finds the tip of my ear and he tastes me there too, sucking in then gently biting. I tilt my head back to expose my neck, urging him to enjoy more of me, and he does, kissing down my neck and along the collar of my shirt. His hands have crawled to the small of my back and are slowly gliding up my bare skin, finding shoulder blades and a spine free of bra straps. I took it off when I got home. I did that on purpose, because I hoped.

Dustin notices.

His hands flirt along my sides, his thumbs edging closer to my front until they finally meet the curves of my breasts. I arch out of need and peel away from our kiss, wishing . . . hoping.

The familiar double beep of a car alarm outside my window forces us to freeze. I clamp my lips shut and drop my forehead to Dustin’s shoulder as we hold our breath and listen. The heavy clunk of my dad’s truck door comes next, followed by the click of the front door shutting, the deadbolt locking into place.

Footsteps pound against the wood stairs, my dad’s inability to be quiet the only thing that saved us from perhaps getting carried away.

Saved. Spoiled.

My parents’ bedroom door creaks open then shuts and we exhale. Neither of us moves for several seconds, though we both know that whatever this was—what was happening tonight—it’s finished, at least for now.

“I better sleep on Tommy’s floor,” Dustin says, his voice a gravelly whisper.

“He might throw up.” I’m only half joking.

Dustin breathes out a quiet laugh that dances against my skin, firing goose bumps at the back of my neck and down my arms and legs.

“I’d deserve it,” he says.

I nod, my cheek rubbing against his. We peel apart with a reluctant sort of guilt, and our eyes barely meet. My skin warms every tiny second they do. I’m not sure whether I’m embarrassed or still reeling from wanting him so bad.

It’s clear Dustin is still feeling the effects of our massive make-out session. His jeans bulge at his crotch, and I’m deviously satisfied that I made his dick so hard. I wonder if he touches himself thinking about me the way I do about him?

I twist to sit on the corner of my bed he just abandoned, the blankets still warm from his body. I smile at the sight of his twisted up hair, knotted in the back from my hands. His frame takes so much space, his chest wide, shoulders broad, and back muscular. I’ve admired his body so many times, so many ways, but now having felt it . . .

He pauses at my door, his forehead pressed against the jamb, one palm flat against the wood, the other wrapped around the knob.