It started with a kiss.
His breath was better than she expected. She liked that in a guy. She went right instead of left, deepening the kiss. He liked that in a girl.
His hands migrated to the back of her hair, her arms wound around his neck. Rain beat against the windows, drowning out any chance of "wait" or "too fast" or "should we..." There was only fire and ice and here and now.
She walked backwards into the bed, knees buckling so he fell on top of her. What a move. He felt his own knees weaken. He'd wanted this, consciously, subconsciously, for a good long while. She couldn't place what was so different about his kiss, but it was unlike that of any man she'd had before.
When she opened her eyes the following morning, she was wrapped in the sheets. He lay facedown, bedclothes covering the important stuff, inches away. She lay there, tracing his tattoo with her index finger until his eyes fluttered open and a smile painted his lips.
She couldn't explain why, but she felt lighter. It wasn't a sense of conquest or achievement. It was a brand new feeling... Like she was done pretending. She looked at Auggie as if through fresh eyes. Gone was the barrier of friendship. Gone was the hurt of other lovers. They weren't just friends anymore.
When he woke up, she kissed him. She kissed him as she buttoned his shirt for him, a rare move of submission on his part. She let him return the favor. He grinned like a schoolboy, kissing her smooth forehead, her perfect nose, her full, soft lips, her elegant neck.
"You look nice," she giggled, smoothing his shirtfront.
"You're perfect, Annie Walker," he whispered. It was the truest thing he'd ever said. She was perfect, and she was finally, finally his.