Vanilla and toothpaste, and something else he’d never quite been able to place. Her lips were soft under his, a perfect match for him. He could kiss her forever. Stand in that mailroom and kiss her until the world was gone. Then she made a small sound in the back of her throat that he recognized and she slid her hands up his arms, linking her fingers behind his neck. Okay, forget kissing. It would never be enough. He needed more. He needed all of her, every bit as badly as he’d needed her a decade ago. He let go of her belt loops and flattened his hands on her back, crushing her against him while he dove into her mouth. He couldn’t get enough. She was everything to him, and she’d never left his soul. He’d been a fool to think he was over her, to think he didn’t care. He dropped his hands and cupped her buttocks, pressing her hips against his front. Closer. He needed her closer. He needed to touch her, taste her, inhale her. Every inch of her. The mole on her left little toe, the scar on her right hip from the fishing-hook mishap when they were in tenth grade, all of her.
