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Mark Farrow, the boy I’d crushed on before I even knew what a crush was. The first guy I’d ever jacked off to. The first guy I’d ever wanted to kiss. The first guy who’d ever touched me exactly the fucking way I’d wanted to be touched. The only guy I could never have.
I wondered if he kissed the way he walked. If that swagger reached those full fucking lips, and how easily they’d give beneath mine. I wondered what he tasted like.
“We fought, but we got over it fast. I thought it would always be like that.”
I wondered what he sounded like when he really let go. I wondered if I’d ever hear it.
“Why’d you let me in that night?” “Why’d you come to my window in the first place?” I countered. “You had other friends.” A small smile curled on Chet’s lips, and he skied the tip of his thumb down the slope of my nose before pressing another kiss to my mouth. That was all the answer I got. “I would’ve let you in anytime.” I met the dark pools of his eyes, the confession soft. “I always will. I don’t know that I’d ever be able not to.”

