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His hand cupped my cheek, a gesture that I missed but was still so familiar. Instinctively, turned my face, and he leaned forward. I held my breath as his forehead came to meet mine, and we sat like this for what felt like hours. My pulse thrummed against my temple like drums and my breathing sped up, like I was running a marathon. His hand was reaching out for mine in my lap, and he wrapped his fingers around them gently. Our lips had a magnetic pull. To resist the urge to not glue mine to his was a strength I didn’t know I had; but the feeling I had from not doing so was surprisingly rewarding. To know that I had the power to control myself. This wasn’t going to be like before; I wasn’t going to mess up this time. Of course I loved him. He was inevitable. But we weren’t going to hurt any more people. Not again. ‘I want to kiss you…’ he breathed. I was starting to shake, whether from nerves or desire I didn’t know. My mouth was watering like he was a delicious delight, and he was, and I wanted to kiss him so badly too that my lower lip was trembling in response. But gathering all the strength I had, I drew away from him and shook my head. 'You know we can’t do this. Not again.’ My voice cracked, 'We’re toxic for each other.’ And we were.

excerpt from a book I’ll never write (via sickwithwritersblock)