Wereball Series - Along Came A Mate

Chapter 31

AN/ Sorry loves, Wattpad decided not to let me in, as it couldn't verify my email for the log in, for some reason. Now all good though! 

I posted two chapters in one (3800 words)

Please avoid rude comments in the future if I post with delay, and try to understand that I do follow a schedule, but sometimes I may post with delay due to circumstances about my life/ technical issues. I also remind you that the book is free here for now, however I will stop posting it on Wattpad if I see more unpolite readers ;)

Final note: I still try to edit the chapters before posting it here on Wattpad, so it's not only a copy and paste from Patreon ;)

Now enjoy the chapter! <3

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The first kiss.

How many poets had squeezed their artistic brains to produce a juice worth reading?

How many times had minstrels chanted the joy of a first kiss, in the harsh medieval courts?

How many butterflies had been slaughtered by the stomachs of lovers about to kiss? How many princes or rogues had climbed onto balconies or windows to steal a kiss from their forbidden princess, risking their lives for an exchange of softness, just for a kiss?

Kissing experts claimed that the moment before a kiss, where the gazes collide, where the world vanishes and hearts fuse together, where anticipation reigned supreme, just before the storm of love, that was where the actual magic resided.

The moment that would echo for eternity in the depths of my heart was that first touch of sparks. Lips that exchanged sparks for the very first time, lips that have known each other's softness for the very first time.

That was the moment poets struggled to find suitable metaphors. That was the moment writers quarreled with blank pages staring at them as if to mock them, as if to remind them that it was an impossible task. Which left them awake for nights, raving in their brilliant madness.

And then there was the storm of emotions immediately after that very first kiss. That blinded and imprisoned you in a cage of love.

The after-kiss.

Like in a new drug, no one warned you about the after-kiss side effects. Like a medicine that had its recommendations and warnings, written in tiny letters, in a piece of paper that everyone ignored or ended up being thrown in the trash. Nobody warned you about the loss, after the lips were forced to separate, usually due to the lungs which needed air to do their job properly.

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I had lost count of how many times I had traced my lips with my fingers. So much so that I would have left a path for little invisible travellers who would want to explore the contours of my lips.

I could probably draw the contour of his lips perfectly for the way they had moulded with mine.

Plutos must have thought that I had contracted the first stage of dementia.

The animal looked at me curiously from the carpet in my bedroom, the big hairy head resting on the front legs.

The fingers of one hand played absently with the necklace around my neck. I had been analysing every little detail for a pathetic amount of time that I will not reveal for the sake of my pride.

At the party, I was so lost in the kiss, so consumed by my mate, that I had not even noticed when he had clasped a necklace around me.

It was only when its coldness tickled my skin that I found the surprise, around my neck, right after the party.