My back is pressed flat against the lighthouse tower. The sea breeze floods my lungs as I gasp for breath. I tighten my fingers around my phone in one hand, the other still entwined with Dylan's. His free hand is resting on the cool cement, right next to my face. The sound of our laughter echoes through the air.
"You shouldn't have done that, Ambrosia," Dylan says in a tipsy murmur. "I don't want her to hurt —"
Maybe it's the booze, making my insides all warm and fuzzy. Or the way the circling beam of the lighthouse is hitting Dylan's eyes. Or the sound of his voice rendered deeper by his breathlessness.
Maybe it's all of these things that make me grab Dylan Frost by his jacket and kiss him.
Immediately, his hands press against my cheeks as his chest pins me to the wall, its rough surface poking through the thin fabric of my dress. Eyes closed, hearts racing, lips locked in a perfect rhythm. It's too much and too little, all at once.
The buzz from the alcohol has yet to wear off. I can hear the song that was playing when Dylan and I had our first kiss. Is it really playing? Or is it just my imagination?
I decide that it doesn't matter when Dylan's hands travel down my face, my shoulders, all the way to my waist. I lift my arms to wrap them around his neck. There isn't a single part of me that is separated from him.
I inhale the salty air in big gulps when we're forced to pull apart. Dylan rests his forehead against my temple, his nose pressed to my cheek, warm breaths tickling my jaw. I turn my face to meet his eyes. Two deep swirls of a stormy ocean, so close and so blue.
He raises one hand and trails his fingers down my neck in the softest, warmest touch. I want to keep my eyes open, but they slide shut on their own accord as his fingers stop at my collarbone.
I can hear the ocean better now that my eyes are closed. The water reminds me of the tears that left trails on Dylan's cheeks that Friday night. I want to know why he was here. I open my mouth to speak, but the question refuses to form. Shutting my eyes tighter, I try to find the words again.
A shudder of surprise runs down my spine when Dylan's lips connect with mine. He traps my lower lip between his teeth, and I can no longer stand upright. I tighten my fingers around his neck as we slide down, folding into a sitting position on the cold, uneven floor. My phone falls out of my grasp with a soft clutter.
The drinks have erased all my inhibitions. But they haven't removed my fears. I know that the kiss is not happiness, it's only a small smile. It's not stability, it's only a moment of exciting imbalance. Yet the irrational part of me that doesn't want to stop wins.
With a thousand gleaming stars as witnesses, I deepen my kiss with Dylan Frost.
YOU ARE READING
Lighthouse Lullaby | ✓
Short Story|Highest rank #2 in Short Story| Ambrosia "Amber" Underwood is a seventeen-year-old high school junior with warped perceptions of the world. She has no friends, only acquaintances. No boyfriend, only a vague dating arrangement with a jock. A lover o...
