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Before I can think it through, I drop the whisk. My hand grabs the front of his muscle shirt, pulling him toward me with more force than I meant to, but it's like I don't care. I need him close, and I need him now.

Noah's eyes widen for half a second before I crash my lips into his. It's not soft, not sweet-it's needy, a little desperate, like I've been waiting too long. His lips part under mine, and I lose myself in the feeling of him, the warmth of his body against mine, the way he melts into the kiss.

I like this. I like the rush that comes with it, the way my chest tightens and my mind goes blank, leaving only Noah in my head. I pull him even closer, my fingers curling into his shirt, like I'm afraid he'll slip away if I don't hold on tight enough.

Noah's hand slides up the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he kisses me back, slow at first, but then he deepens it, making me forget about everything else. It's like we're the only two people in the world right now, standing in his kitchen with the eggs forgotten on the counter, sunlight streaming in, but all I can feel is him.