His lips press against my pulse point. The gesture is sweet and too short—I need more. He keeps walking forward, making me walk backwards until my shoulders crash into the wall. “Happy? No. That word doesn’t justify what I feel for you. You infuriate me. You have me overly fixated on you. You are the first person in my life to make me feel alive, and I resent that. There’s an entire list of reasons why kissing you and holding you is a bad idea.” He slaps the wall behind me as though fighting with himself.
