Emily had never been kissed. Never even held hands under the desk like the other girls did when the teacher wasn’t looking. Never talked to a boy beyond a quick thank you or a whispered excuse me.

Not because she was scared of them. Not exactly. They just felt far away, like something behind glass. Like a verse from her Bible or a line from one of her forbidden romance novels read under the covers. Distant. Untouchable. Like Edan.

He was the only boy she saw now. Church boy. Tall, quiet, messy hair that flopped into his eyes when he bowed to pray. He wore scuffed sneakers with his slacks and smiled without showing teeth. She liked that. Thought about it too much. Wondered if he ever watched her the way she watched him. Quick glances, like hidden bookmarks between pages of something she’d never admit she read.

Sometimes they stood next to each other at the altar. Never talked. Just brushed sleeves or passed a book. Two statues placed too close.

But that changed on a Tuesday.

She had agreed to help Sister Agnes catalog the old texts. The church library was ancient, full of cracked leather bindings and thick layers of dust on shelves no one had touched in years. It was meant to be a two-person job, but the other volunteer bailed last minute. So Sister Agnes sent Edan.

Emily heard his footsteps before she saw him. Confident but chill, like he didn’t know how loud they were in the narrow hallway. She was already kneeling by a stack of moldy books when his shadow slid over her fingers.

“Hey... you’re Emily, right?” His voice was warm. Curious. A little unsure.

She looked up too fast and smacked her head on the shelf. “Ow. Oh. Yeah. I... I mean, yes. Emily.”

Edan blinked, then smiled that quiet smile without teeth. “Cool. I’m Edan. Uh... obviously.”

It was a dumb thing to say. He laughed at himself. She smiled too, quick and shy, her cheeks burning.

They worked in silence after that. Stacking books, brushing off cobwebs, peeling open pages that hadn’t seen light in decades. She kept stealing glances. The way his fingers moved over the paper, slow and careful. The way his shirt clung to his back when he stretched. Something stirred in her chest. A flutter. A prickle. Warmth she didn’t have a name for.

After an hour, Sister Agnes called from the landing. “Children! I’ll be out until after supper. Lock the door when you’re done.”

Emily froze. Edan looked at her, one brow up. “Guess we’re on our own.”

She nodded, throat dry. “Mm-hmm.”

The library was old. But the basement was older. A stone archive room nobody had touched in years. Sister Agnes told them to stay out. Edan had other ideas.

“Wanna see what’s down there?” he asked, smiling like he already knew she’d say yes.

Emily paused. Her parents wouldn’t like it. But she was nineteen now. Old enough. And Edan was looking at her like she meant something.

“Okay,” she said, quiet.

The stairwell was narrower than she expected.

Emily followed him down, one hand brushing the stone wall for balance, the other clutching the hem of her long cardigan like a shield. Edan walked ahead, holding a heavy flashlight they found upstairs. It cast long shadows that stretched and twitched as they moved, throwing strange shapes on the walls. She watched his back, the way the light lit the curve of his shoulders under the gray hoodie, the soft bounce of his hair. Her legs trembled, and it wasn’t from the cold.

The basement door creaked open with a groan too loud for comfort. Dust spun in the flashlight beam. The air was colder down here, thick with mildew and old paper. Emily wrinkled her nose but didn’t say anything.

He looked back at her. “Creepy enough?”

She smiled, a little shy. “Kind of... cool.”

The room opened into rows of shelves, carved from heavy wood, sagging under forgotten tomes. Scrolls. Faded photographs in cracked frames. Boxes labeled in Latin. One corner held a low table covered in candle stubs and a few battered chairs. The ceiling pressed low with rusted pipes. Somewhere, water dripped.

Edan let out a slow breath. “Alright. Let’s see what’s hiding down here.”

Emily stepped away, her fingers trailing along a dusty shelf. Everything felt delicate. Sacred, but not in a holy way. Just old. She crouched beside a box and lifted the lid.

Letters. Dozens of them, tied with faded ribbons.

She picked one up and unfolded it. Ink danced in tight loops across yellowed paper. A love letter.

Edan knelt beside her, leaning in. “Whoa. That’s... pretty.”

Emily nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. He was so close, smelling like cedarwood. Her skin prickled under her sleeves.

His thigh brushed hers as he shifted. Just a tiny touch, but it sent a crackle through her blood.

“I didn’t know people used to write stuff like this,” he said softly.

She looked at him. His face was soft in the flashlight glow. “I do. Sometimes.”

He turned to her, surprised. “You write letters?”

“I... used to,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I never sent them.”

“To who?”

She swallowed. “No one. Just... made-up people. I guess.”

Silence settled between them. Not awkward. Just thick. Close.

Edan’s voice dropped lower. “I think that’s kinda beautiful.”

She looked down, smiling.

They kept going through the letters. Time blurred. The air stayed cold, but her skin didn’t. Warmth spread up her spine, across her chest, even though she barely moved. His knee brushed hers again. This time, it stayed. Neither of them pulled away.

Then the flashlight flickered.

“Oh shit,” Edan muttered, tapping it. The beam dimmed, blinked, then went out.

Darkness swallowed them.

Emily’s breath hitched. She reached blindly and grabbed his arm. “Wait—”

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice close. She felt his fingers wrap gently around her wrist. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

But the flashlight didn’t come back.

She heard him shift, felt him beside her in the dark, their breaths the only sound in the dark.

“I think the battery’s dead,” he said.

“No phone signal down here,” she murmured, remembering.

He paused. “Guess we’re stuck for a while.”

Emily didn’t reply. Her heart pounded too loud in her ears. The darkness made everything feel smaller. She could feel him. His scent. The heat coming off his skin. The softness in his voice.

“Hey,” Edan said gently. “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” she breathed, still clutching his arm. “Just... surprised.”

“We could sit?” he offered.

There was a rug in the center of the space, half-mildewed but dry. They found it by feel and sank down beside each other. She pulled her knees up to her chest. He leaned back on his elbows.

“So,” he said after a moment. “What else don’t I know about you?”

She hesitated. Then said, “I’ve never... really talked to a guy like this before.”

“Like what?”

“Like... casually. Friendly.”

“You’re easy to talk to,” he said softly. “I mean, I’m nervous as hell, but...”

She looked at him, even though she couldn’t see him. “You’re nervous?”

He let out a quiet laugh. “You’re really pretty, Emily. Of course I’m nervous.”

Pretty. Her stomach flipped. No one had said that to her before. Not once.

“I—thank you,” she whispered.

He shifted. His knee touched hers again. This time, he didn’t pull away.

The silence thickened again. Not empty. Charged. Like something between them was pulled tight, ready to snap. Her skin burned. She fidgeted with her sleeves, thighs pressed together. She felt dizzy. Curious.

“I’ve never really... done anything,” she blurted, then regretted it instantly.

But Edan was quiet for a second, then said, “Me neither.”

“Really?”

“I mean... yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve watched stuff, sure. Everyone has. But I’ve never...”

He trailed off. She could hear his pulse in his voice.

There was a pause. Then he said, “Can I... would it be okay if I touched your hand?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then just squeezed his arm.

He couldn’t see her nod, but he found her fingers in the dark, anyway. Careful. Almost reverent. His hand was warm and a little rough, callused at the tips. He gave her a gentle squeeze.

Her heart pounded. Her chest felt tight. Her thighs clenched.

His thumb brushed the back of her hand, slow and soft. Then he laced his fingers through hers.

“You’re shaking,” he said, barely above a breath.

“I know,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“You’re not.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time.”

“You have?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rougher now. “You always look like you’re somewhere else. Like you’re dreaming.”

“I think I was,” she murmured. “Until now.”

Edan shifted beside her, still holding her hand.

Then he said, “Wait... I’ve got an idea.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket, fumbled for a second, then came a soft glow. Not the harsh beam of a flashlight, but the warm light of his phone screen. He placed it face-up on the rug between them. Just enough to light their faces. Their shoulders. Nothing more.

Emily blinked against it. She could see him now. His lashes low, his mouth just slightly parted. His fingers still entwined with hers. Her own skin looked flushed in the warm light, her cardigan slipping slightly down one shoulder. She didn’t fix it.

He looked at her—really looked at her—and something in the space between them tilted.

“You’re beautiful.”

Emily’s heart thudded so loud she was sure he could feel it through her palm. Her mouth opened, but no words came. So she did the only thing she could. She leaned in.

Not much. Just enough to show him. Just enough for her lips to tremble, hovering a breath from his.

He met her halfway.

Their mouths touched like two pages closing in a book. Soft. Careful. A shy kiss. His lips were warm, and she gasped when they brushed over hers. Her fingers clutched his tighter. He kissed her again, slower this time, like he was scared she might disappear if he moved too fast.

She leaned in, resting her free hand on his chest. His heartbeat raced. Hers matched.

The kiss deepened from want. A raw, naïve ache between two people who had never been this close. He pulled back just enough to see her. His eyes looked glassy in the phone light. His lips were kissed pink.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, cheeks hot. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

This time, he kissed her with both hands. One cupped her neck, trembling a little. The other slid to her waist, fingers brushing the hem of her cardigan. Her hand slipped under his hoodie, fingertips grazing warm skin. He sucked in a breath against her lips.

Emily felt electric. Her chest, her stomach, the space between her thighs—all of it tingled. She didn’t know what she wanted. Just that she didn’t want him to stop.

Their kisses deepened. Got messier. He moved to her jaw, her cheek, then her throat, each touch leaving heat that made her shift, thighs pressed tight. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her body was answering questions her mind hadn’t learned to ask.

His hands found the edge of her shirt.

He paused. “Can I...?”

“Yes,” she whispered, breath shaky.

He lifted her top gently, revealing her stomach. His fingers traced her skin like she was something sacred. She whimpered when he kissed below her ribs, her hands tangling in his hair. No one had ever touched her there. No one had ever seen her like this.

The air turned heavy. Humid. Like the library had sunk deeper into the earth and wrapped them in its breath.

They explored each other like sacred text. Fingers. Mouths. Trembles. No rush. No jokes. Just two hearts pulled by instinct and fire.

She didn’t know how her shirt came off.

Maybe she had raised her arms without thinking. Or maybe Edan had helped. Gently. But now she sat on the rug in her pale bra and leggings, cardigan bunched behind her, forgotten. Goosebumps rose on her skin, but she wasn’t cold.

His hoodie was gone too. Then his shirt. His chest was lean. Not like the sculpted bodies in movies. Real. Warm.

When he kissed her again, skin met skin, and she almost whimpered.

It was nothing like she imagined. The heat. The press. The way his breath touched hers as he kissed her deeper. Slower. Like he was tasting something forbidden.

And she wanted to be forbidden. Just for him.

Her hands moved on their own.

She touched his stomach, feeling the faint trail of hair below his navel, the soft lines of muscle under warm skin. Her fingers slipped lower, tracing the waistband of his boxers. He sucked in a breath.

“Emily...” he whispered.

Her name in his mouth made her thighs press together.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her hand moved lower, over the cotton stretched tight across him. She felt him. The shape of him clear. Hard. And it made her ache.

He gasped when her palm brushed along him through the fabric, hips twitching. His hand gripped her thigh, firm, like he needed something to hold.

She looked up at him, unsure. “Is this okay?”

“God, yes,” he breathed, eyes dark and wide. “Only if... you want to.”

“I do,” she said. The words shocked her with how sure they sounded.

She kept her hand there, fingers exploring gently, shy but curious. His cock pulsed under the cloth, heavy and alive. The way he breathed, shallow and shaky, made her heart flutter.

Then his hands moved too.

One traced her side, brushing the edge of her bra, but not quite daring. The other slipped down, across her stomach, then lower still. Over her leggings. Between her thighs.

She froze.

His fingers paused. “Too much?”

“No,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I just... I’ve never...”

“Me neither,” he said, voice low. “But I want to know. You. All of you.”

His hand pressed gently, cupping her through the fabric. She gasped. Her hips moved without thinking, pressing into his palm.

She was soaked. Even through the cloth, they both felt it. Need that begged to be touched. To be known.

He let out a soft groan. “Emily...”

Her name again. Rougher. Hungrier.

She bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut, letting him touch her like that. Barely. But enough to make her body tremble. His fingers moved in slow circles, feeling the shape of her through her panties. Feeling how wet she was. She moaned softly, her hand still stroking him through his boxers.

They moved like a mirror. Tentative touches. Shy gasps. Hips shifting. Exploring the edges of something huge.

Not yet. Not inside. Not bare. But close enough to burn.

In the dim golden glow of the phone between them, their half-dressed bodies soaked in warmth, they looked at each other like nothing else existed.

He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers.

“I want you,” he said, voice thick.

She nodded. Swallowed. “Me too.”

Their bodies moved closer. Skin to skin. Heat building, but still careful. Still sweet.

His hand slid up, tracing her side, then over her bra. She gasped when his thumb grazed her nipple through the fabric. Her back arched, chasing the touch.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, each one slower than the last, like he was memorizing the way she tasted. Her breath came in soft, stuttering pulls. She could feel his heartbeat where their chests touched, fast like hers.

She reached behind herself, fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra. Paused. Then looked at him.

His eyes met hers. He waited.

“Okay?” he asked.

She nodded again, her throat tight. “Yes.”

She let the bra fall, her arms lowering slowly. The cool air brushed her bare skin, but it was his gaze that made her shiver.

He looked at her like she was something rare. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch, but couldn’t stop himself from reaching.

His hands moved gently. One cupped her breast, the other tracing the curve with his thumb. He was quiet, focused, breathing harder now. She gasped when his thumb circled her nipple, light and slow.

He lowered his head without a word, kissing down her chest, taking his time. Her breath caught when his lips brushed over her breast.

Then he took her nipple into his mouth.

Heat surged through her. She gasped, her hand flying to his hair, fingers twisting gently. His mouth was warm, soft, his tongue teasing in slow, careful strokes. He sucked gently, then a little deeper, and her whole body responded. Her thighs pressed together, hips shifting without her meaning to.

She couldn’t speak. She could only feel. The pull of his mouth, the drag of his tongue, the way he touched her like he already knew what she liked.

Her head tipped back. Her lips parted.

And still, he didn’t rush. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same slow worship, like every inch of her deserved time and attention.

She had never felt anything like it.

He kissed his way back up, mouth lingering at her collarbone, then her neck. She pulled him close, fingers sliding under the waistband of his boxers. He helped her, lifting his hips as she pushed them down, and then he was bare.

She looked down, breath catching at the sight of his throbbing erection. It was the first time she had seen a man like this.

“Your turn,” she whispered.

He helped her peel off her leggings and panties, moving slowly, like he was unwrapping something precious. When she lay back on the rug, fully exposed, he looked at her like nothing else had ever mattered. Not before. Not after. Just her.

He moved between her thighs. Her legs parted, unsure but willing, trembling beneath him. The weight of his body pressed into hers, and her pulse roared in her ears. Something deep inside her ached, full of heat and fear and want all tangled together.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she said. She reached for him, wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want this.”

He lined himself up, the head of him pressing gently against her slick entrance. As he began to push in, her breath caught. Her fingers gripped his back. It hurt, not sharp, but deep. A slow, unfamiliar stretch her body had never known. Her eyes squeezed shut.

He stilled. “Emily.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Just... go slow.”

He did. Inch by inch. Kissing her, holding her, whispering her name. When he filled her, everything inside went still. Their breaths caught. Her eyes stung with the pressure and the wonder of it. It was too much and not enough all at once, her body stretched open around him, wanting without knowing how to want.

Then he started to move. Slow at first, his hips rocking gently, drawing out and sliding back in with careful pressure.

She felt everything. The stretch, the glide, the heat of him deep inside. Her breath stuttered with every push, each one sending a new rush of sensation curling through her belly. The friction made her gasp, hips tilting up to meet his, chasing more without knowing how.

It was all new. Every pulse, every glide, every press against the softest parts of her. Her walls tightened around him, instinctive and eager, and she moaned quietly, her fingers digging into his back.

Something was building fast. Sharp. Bright. A wave pulling her under. She had no name for it, only the need to keep moving, keep feeling, keep going until it crashed through her completely.

Then it hit.

Her whole body locked up, breath shattering as she arched beneath him. The pressure inside snapped loose, flooding her with sensation so intense it felt like falling and flying at once. Her muscles clenched tight around him, pulling him deeper, pulsing in sharp, helpless waves.

Pleasure poured through her, washing away the sting, replacing it with something warm and overwhelming. She whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, holding on to him like the world might come undone.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and raw. His thrusts faltered, hips jerking as her body gripped him. Then he kissed her hard, desperate as he buried himself deep and came, spilling his warmth inside her.

“Oh god,” he whispered. “Emily... I didn’t use a condom.” His voice cracked. He pulled back just enough to look at her, panic creeping into his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I just...”

She blinked, breathless, her body still buzzing.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, reaching up to touch his face. “I’m on the pill. For my hormones. My period’s... complicated.”

He stared at her, chest rising and falling fast. Then he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers again.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. I just... I should’ve asked.”

“You did ask,” she whispered. “About everything that mattered.”

And for a long, quiet moment, neither of them moved.

Then a voice echoed from above.

“Emily? Edan?” Sister Agnes. Sharp. Close. “Are you down there?”

Emily’s eyes flew open. She sat up fast, heart pounding for a whole new reason.

“Shit,” Edan whispered, scrambling for his clothes.

They dressed in a blur of limbs and whispered curses, barely managing to fix buttons and smooth fabric before the heavy door creaked open. A beam of light cut through the dim basement, followed by the unmistakable figure of Sister Agnes, hands on hips, eyes narrowed.

“I told you not to go down here,” she said, voice full of irritation. “What were you thinking?”

Edan stepped forward, clearly flustered but trying to hold it together. “We... didn’t mean to go all the way in. We were curious. Thought we’d just take a quick look. Then the flashlight started dying and we couldn’t find our way back."

Sister Agnes stared at him. Then at Emily, whose cheeks were still flushed, hair a mess, cardigan clinging off one shoulder.

“You’re lucky I found it odd that you didn’t lock up. This could’ve been a very long night for both of you.”

Emily kept her eyes on the floor. “Sorry, Sister. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” She sniffed, giving Emily another long look. “You look overheated, Emily. You feeling alright?”

Emily blinked fast. “Just dusty. And maybe... nervous. It was kind of scary down there.”

“Go home. Both of you,” Sister Agnes said. “And next time, follow instructions.”

They murmured apologies, heads ducked, and filed past her, slipping out the front doors into the cool night.

Outside, the air felt chilly. Emily hugged her arms around herself, still lightheaded from everything that had happened. Her cheeks were warm. Her body felt strange.

Edan stood beside her, quiet. Then he touched her elbow, gentle.

She looked at him. He didn’t say anything, just held out his hand.

For a second, she hesitated. Then she let her arms fall and slipped her hand into his. His fingers closed around hers.

“Let me walk you home,” he said.

She nodded.

They walked down the street together, their hands joined. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to.