Heroes Are My Weakness(132)

He touched her face. “I think I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.”

She cocked her head, as if she were waiting for something.

“I’m sure of it,” he said more firmly, even though he wasn’t sure at all. Who could look back on their teenage years and be clear about anything? But she wanted something more from him, and he had to give it to her, even if he had no idea what it was.

Out of nowhere, he heard a puppet’s voice. Kiss her, you dumbass.

There was nothing he yearned to do more, but he reeked of smoke, his face was coated with oily soot, and his hands were filthy.

Just do it.

And so he did. He tunneled his dirty hands through her hair and kissed her breathless. Her neck, her eyes, the corners of her mouth. He kissed her lips as if his life depended on it. Kissed their future into her. All they could have and all they could be. The soft sounds they made together became a poem to his ears.

Her hands clasped his shoulders, not pushing him away, drawing him closer. He lost himself in her. Found himself.

When their kiss finally ended, he kept his grubby hands cupped around her now equally grubby cheeks. Soot smudged the tip of her nose. Her lips were swollen from their kiss. Her eyes shimmered.

“Free secret,” she whispered.

His stomach twisted into its tightest knot. Slowly he released his breath. “Make it good.”

She pressed her lips to his ears and whispered her secret.

It was good. Really good. In fact, it couldn’t have been better.