Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

Moving on, I ran my fingers over his straight eyebrows,
the cold, smooth ridge of his ears and lobes, and his thick hair
that fell over his forehead and in his eyes a little. He was
probably dark-haired, since fair people like me often had
thinner hair.
I trailed my hands down to his chin, my heart pounding as
my fingers danced around his mouth, but then I brought them
up and traced the lines of his lips.
His hot breath fell across my fingers, and my whole body
warmed. Was he looking at my face, too? Into my eyes? What
was he thinking?
“I wish I could see you for real,” I told him. “I want to
know what you look like when you look at me.”
He remained silent, and embarrassment burned across my
skin. I shook it off, moving on.
“No piercings,” I added. “On your head anyway.”
His upper lip tilted up, and I half-smiled. “And he smirks,”
I teased.
Of course, I didn’t need to feel his mischievous smile to
know he was a bad boy, but it comforted me to know he had a
sense of humor.
“Your neck…” I grazed my fingertips down his smooth
skin and throat.
“What about it?”
I leaned in, surprising myself as I pressed my cheek into
the skin there. He didn’t move a muscle.
“It’s warm,” I remarked. “Smooth.”
And the house was cold.
I inhaled, smelling his soap and shampoo, far too fragrant
to be hours old.
“You just showered,” I guessed.
Pulling up, I took a step closer, holding his head right in
front of me and sliding my fingers back into his hair.