First Last Kiss - Short Story

Some kisses are worth waiting for.

Years after Ryan left town—and Ellie behind—fate throws them back together at the Harvest Festival. One kiss reignites everything they never had… and this time, they’re not wasting the chance.

 

Last First Kiss

Ellie

I’m not even supposed to be here.

If my sister hadn’t bailed at the last second, I’d be home right now, curled up in sweats, not standing under a string of fairy lights at the annual Harvest Festival pretending I know what to do with my hands.

I shift my drink to the other hand and glance around, catching sight of the pie auction already winding down. Small-town life at its finest. Same booths. Same crowds. Same smiling faces that have known each other since kindergarten.

And then I see him. 

Ryan Carter.

Leaning against one of the old picnic tables like he belongs there, like no time has passed at all. Same lazy grin. Same messy dark hair. Same easy way of looking at the world like it’s all one big inside joke. And for one stupid second, it’s like I’m seventeen again.

Standing under the bleachers. Listening to him say he was leaving for college but that “some kisses are worth coming back for.”

We never even had that kiss.

He left. I stayed.

And whatever could have been…just wasn’t.

He catches me staring before I can look away. And then he smiles. That slow, familiar, God, you’re in trouble now kind of smile.

“Ellie Mitchell,” he says as he walks up, hands tucked in his pockets. “Didn’t think you still came to these things.”

“Some of us didn’t skip town,” I say, lifting my cup.

He grins. “Touché.”

His eyes flick over me, warm and a little teasing. “Small-town life looks good on you.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Still a smooth talker, huh?”

He shrugs like he can’t help it. “Only when it counts.”

For a second, we just stand there, the noise of the festival fading into the background. It’s stupid, how easy it feels. How easy he feels.

“How long are you in town?” I ask.

He leans in a little, like he’s about to tell me a secret.

“That depends.” His eyes roam over my body.

“On what?” I narrow my eyes a little.

“On whether or not you finally let me steal that kiss.”

My heart stumbles so hard I have to grip my cup tighter.

“Ryan…” I start, but there’s no weight behind it. No real protest. Not when I’ve spent years wondering what it would’ve felt like if we’d gotten it right.

He watches me for a second, like he’s waiting to see how I’ll react.

Like he’s trying to read who I am now. If I’m still the girl he left behind. I’m not that young, naive girl who would’ve waited around hoping.

Not anymore.

I set my cup down on the edge of the table and step close enough that I can feel the heat from his body, smell the faint trace of soap and leather that has always clung to him.

“You sure you’re ready for that kind of commitment?” I tease, voice a little too breathless.

He grins. “Only been waiting half my life for it.”

“You always did like to talk big,” I say, keeping my tone easy even though my pulse is anything but. “But you never followed through.”

His smile curves slow, eyes watching me closely. “You saying I’m all talk, Mitchell?”

I don’t answer.

I step in, close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him, close enough that I know exactly what I’m about to do.

And then I kiss him.

Quick. Certain. Just enough to take him off guard.

He freezes for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting it, then he sinks into it, one hand sliding around my waist, the other pulling me closer like he’s been waiting years for this moment.

Just Ryan and me and every second we lost between then and now crashing into one perfect moment under the glow of festival lights.

His hands find my waist, steady and sure. Mine slides up his chest, feeling the strong, familiar beat of his heart beneath my fingers.

It’s not a shy kiss.

It’s the kind of first kiss that doesn’t feel like a beginning. It feels like a correction. Like something that was always supposed to happen, finally getting its moment.

It’s everything we never got to have, hungry and sweet and full of a thousand could-have-beens finally snapping into place.

When we break apart, I’m breathless and grinning like an idiot.

“About damn time,” he murmurs.

I pull back just enough to breathe, a smile tugging at my lips before I can stop it. Then I laugh, soft and unsteady, more relief than amusement. 

“About damn time,” I murmur, still catching my breath.

Ryan leans his forehead against mine, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think that was good…” His breath brushes my skin, and I swear it lights me up all over again.

He pauses just long enough to make me lean in without thinking. “Wait until the second one.”

I don’t even hesitate. “Bring it on, Carter.”

Ryan’s eyes flash. Hunger. Amusement. A little bit of surprise.

He leans in, brushing his lips over mine once more. Slower this time. Teasing.

“Don’t tempt me unless you’re ready for it, Mitchell,” he murmurs, his mouth hovering just close enough that I feel the words against my skin.

“Who says I’m not?” I whisper back.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “You always talk this much before getting kissed stupid?”

I grin, stepping away just far enough to tug him by the front of his shirt. “Nope. Only when I want it to get filthy.”

That’s all it takes.

His hand closes around mine, and he pulls me into motion, cutting through the crowd with a purpose that makes my pulse race. We duck around the back of one of the main buildings, something for fair staff, judging by the faded “AUTHORIZED ONLY” sign, and he pushes the door open like he’s done it a hundred times.

Inside, it’s dim. Quiet. Smells like sawdust and old hay. There’s a closet in the back, cracked open, storage shelves visible through the gap.

Ryan backs me into the shadows, eyes locked on mine the whole way.

“You know how many nights I thought about this?” he says, his voice low, rough. “Wondered if you tasted like summer and trouble?”

“I thought you said you were done talking.”

He chuckles, stepping in close enough that his chest brushes mine. “I lied.”

And then his mouth is on me.

There’s nothing gentle about it. His mouth claims mine like he’s been holding back for years—rough, possessive, all tongue and teeth and heat that hits me straight in the spine. I kiss him back just as hard, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as his hands roam lower, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him.

I moan into his mouth when I feel how hard he is already, pressing against me through his jeans. It only makes him growl.

“You’re killing me, Ellie,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along my jaw. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Do I look like I want you to stop?”

He doesn’t answer. Just grins, wicked and wild, before backing me into the closet. He closes the door behind us with a quiet click and turns the lock.

And then we’re on each other.

He lifts me like it’s nothing, setting me on a waist-high shelf stacked with boxes, pushing my skirt up with both hands and dragging his fingers along the inside of my thigh like he’s savoring every inch.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes dark as he pushes my panties aside and finds just how wet I already am. “Is this for me?”

I hook my legs around him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other yanking at his belt. “You gonna keep talking, or are you gonna find out?”

His mouth curves in a slow, dirty smile. “You want my mouth, baby?”

“Eventually,” I say, rocking my hips into his hand. “But right now, I want your cock.”

That breaks him.

He swears under his breath, yanks his zipper down, and frees himself. Big. Thick. Hard and hot in his hand as he gives himself one stroke before lining up.

“You want it fast?” he says, running the head through my wetness just enough to make me gasp. “Hard? Want me to fuck you so good you forget every other first?”

“Ryan,” I pant, dragging him closer. “Shut up and fuck me already.”

He groans like the words physically hit him. One sharp thrust and he’s inside me, thick and deep, filling me so perfectly it rips the air straight from my lungs.

“Fuck, Ellie,” he growls, voice strained. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”

I cling to him, one hand braced on the shelf behind me, the other clutching his shoulder as he starts to move, rough and deliberate, like he’s trying to brand himself into every inch of me. The shelf creaks beneath us, boxes shifting on the shelf next to me, but I don’t care. I’d let this whole damn building fall if it meant he kept fucking me like this.

“Harder,” I gasp, biting down on his shoulder to keep from moaning too loud. “You can’t break me.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, sweat beading at his temple, jaw tight. “I’m trying real fucking hard not to.”

“Then stop trying.”

That does it.

He slams back into me, hips snapping hard and fast, one hand gripping my ass, the other pressed to the shelf beside my head like he needs the support. His mouth drops to my neck, teeth scraping against my skin, and I swear I feel him lose control completely.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he pants, voice breaking with every thrust. “I should’ve never left. I should’ve fucked you stupid years ago.”

“Then make up for it now,” I whisper, rocking into him, desperate for more. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

He growls low in his throat and drives deeper, hitting that spot that makes my head fall back and my legs tremble around his waist.

“Just like that,” I cry out, barely holding on. “Don’t stop—”

“Not planning to,” he grits out. “You gonna come for me, baby? Want me to feel you lose it all over my cock?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

My orgasm crashes into me hard and fast, stealing the ground out from under me. I cry out against his shoulder, shaking apart as he keeps moving, pushing me through every last wave of it until I’m spent and trembling in his arms.

And then I feel it, his rhythm stuttering, his breath catching as he follows me over the edge with a harsh groan, burying himself deep as he comes.

We stay like that for a long moment, tangled and breathless in a dusty old closet while the fair buzzes on just outside the door.

His forehead drops to mine again, both of us grinning like idiots.

“Still think you can handle me?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and proud.

I huff a laugh, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead. “Was that supposed to scare me off?”

He leans in and kisses me again, this time soft and slow, like he’s tasting the aftermath of something he doesn’t want to forget.

“I’ve waited a long time for that,” he says quietly. “Worth it.”

I smile, still catching my breath. “Good. Because you’re not getting rid of me now.”

He raises a brow. “That a promise?”

“It’s a warning.”

He laughs, pulling me in again for one last first kiss.

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: March 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix