𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇, tom holland

23 ⋟ 69 degrees

𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚊
(𝚗) 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

Every single thought went out of Lilah's head. Every damn thought.

The world had stilled completely. He'd just barely brushed his lips against hers, and yet the trees halted their rustling, the clouds stopped moving—all sounds went silent at that whisper of a kiss.

The kiss was quiet, soft, brief, and filled with so much desire.

Lilah could've sworn that Tom was trembling when he pulled away from her lips, when he grazed the pad of his thumb across her cheek once again, when his eyes finally met hers.

And there was a moment, a moment of quiet understanding—where both of them knew that they had each other on a hold. That they felt like they were slipping off the world and the only hold, the only tie to keep from falling off, was the person in front of them.

Lilah couldn't form the words in her mind to describe the deep feeling of trust and warmth and light that simmered in her chest.

Tom's eyes shone with endearment, something like pride flashed across them before Lilah leaned forward and caressed his lips with her own.

Her hands slithered from over his thundering chest to his shoulders, Tom's hands leaving her face and swiftly slipping down to her waist. It was all she could do not to smile too much into the kiss, but she couldn't help herself.

His touch was light and smooth, even as his hands trailed over Lilah's ribs, her hips, squeezing gently to pull her closer. Lilah's own hands slid into his soft brown hair, idly twisting a curl around her finger—an action she had wanted to do for the longest time.

Tom's tongue just brushed against her bottom lip, and Lilah was surprised at how easily she opened up for him, at how new and old that contact was. She arched into him, holding his face in her hands.

He kissed her deeply at the silent request for more, for more touch, more access, more of him. When he lined his hips up with hers, heat scorched through her entire body, flowing through her like an undulating wave. His lips moved against hers in a certain familiarity that neither of them could explain.

Maybe it was because they'd both spent so much time staring at each other's lips, they'd already known what to do when they finally gotten the chance to act on their thoughts.

Tom tore his lips from hers to catch his breath, but placed gentle and patient kisses on one corner of her mouth, then the other. His lips slowly moved from hers, down to her cheek, to softly graze her jaw, her neck.

She was breathless, Lilah realized. Because of where Tom's lips were placed, where his hand moved to her lower back—right above her scar—where his other hand went up to cup her jaw. Because of him. And when he lifted his head up from her neck and stared into her eyes, his lips parted, Lilah smiled. And he grinned right back.

Neither of them had any words. No words to say what they truly felt. So Tom leaned his forehead against hers, and whispered, his voice breaking, "Lilah."

⋆·˚ ༘ *🗡* ༘˚·⋆

"Do you even know what an analogy is?"

"Yeah it's a thought with another thoughts hat on," Tom reasoned, spinning around and strolling off.

Eveline rolled her eyes at the pair and walked off with the cart. Lilah frowned at her younger sister as she sauntered off. How had she gotten so tall over the past year? And more mature, for some reason that Lilah couldn't explain. She was proud of her sister for having the courage to leave their parents, it was a hard decision.