Will catches me.
It was obvious from the start that he would be faster than me, what with his lithe legs and high fitness level. I hadn’t got a chance. So when he springs forwards and lifts me up, writhing and screaming, I almost expect it.
“Gotcha!” he shouts in victory.
“Put me down,” I laugh, trying to kick him. “Will! Put me down!”
“Promise you’ll kiss me if I do.”
“Okay, okay. I will, just let me go!”
When he does as he is asked, I show him the crossed fingers I had hidden behind my back and take off slipping and running once more. His growl echoes from behind me.
I only make it halfway around the balcony when I realise that there is a divide and a barrier keeping me from moving forward. A dead end.
“Not fair!” I squeal, laughing in exhaustion as Will approaches. “I had no chance!”
“Uh-uh. No more playing fair for me.”
Will steps close and pins me against the balcony in one sure movement. We shiver in synchronisation and I wonder if it is only because of the cold.
“We should get back inside,” I try.
“That’s not gonna work, babe. If I’m going to catch hypothermia, I’ll at least have my kiss. Plus, I seem to remember that this was your idea in the first place, was it not?”
When he calls me babe, my shivers morph into full-on shudders. My body is reaching out to him in a way that I am not used to- having never experienced feelings of this kind prior to Will’s arrival, I am at a loss.
“Fine,” I say, feeling guilty already but unable to stop. My want for him surpasses any sense. “Kiss me.”
His eyes are overtaken by longing. Reaching down, he begins at my neck, tilting my head back into the rain. Short, burning kisses suck the water from my skin, trailing up to my jaw and along to my mouth, until my breath is caught between his lips. Then, he grabs my waist as he kisses me fully, his hands sliding to my back, slick against my rain-coated body.
A tap on the glass from inside causes us to falter.
“Oi, kid!” the bull-faced man hollers.
“Fug,” says Will into my mouth, and I can’t help but laugh. He looks genuinely afraid.
“Get a frigging room you pair of-” once again, the words that follow could possibly get you hung in some countries.This time, we both turn back towards the window to look the angry aggressor.
“Aw, Jonesy,” calls a grating female voice. In saunters Davinia, cloaked in what looks like a pair of curtains and painted with scarlet lipstick and flicks of eyeliner. “Leave ‘em alone. Come on, we can get a friggin’ room if you wanna.”
While Will and I watch gobsmacked, she pecks ‘Jonesy’ on the cheek, raises her skirt to show a bit of leg (not the most pleasant sight in the world, but it seems to turn him on alright) and leaves, with bull-face close behind.
I turn to Will.
“Love is weird,” I say.
“Weird is too mild a word.” He still looks utterly horrified at what he just saw. “That was just fugging twisted.”
Giggling, I throw open the door and walk back to number ten, Will’s room. From number seven, there comes a desperate shout of “Oh, Jonesy!” and Will groans.
YOU ARE READING
Her List of Kisses
Teen FictionWhen she was thirteen, Chloe Golding wrote a list. On this list was every type of kiss she hoped to experience in her teenage years. They ranged from an innocent peck on the back of the hand, to passionate make-out sessions and kisses on the private...
