“Listen,” I say. Leaning over, I grab his forearm with both hands as I scooch closer. I notice his eyes dip down to where I’m touching his sleeve, but I’m too busy needing to prove my point to really care. “Don’t you agree that’s a beautiful sentiment? That,”—I look up to the ceiling for half a second while thinking, then back down—“that something so muchbiggerthan any of us can make us feel a little less alone? That the moon, in a weird mystical way, can connect us to the people we love?”
“You’reweird and mystical.”
I playfully slap his arm. “I’m beingserious.”
Huxley’s laugh rumbles in his chest, and he smooths his tongue over his teeth, flashing his black barbell, as if getting ready to mock me again. But then his expression softens for the second time today, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how close my body is to his.
He slowly falls serious, his eyes roving over my face just like they did earlier. As if seeking something I’m not privy to. I wait for him to speak, my cheeks growing warm under his pointed attention.
“I guess I’ve never craved that kind of connection with someone before.”
One by one, his words slowly drift down betweenus like delicate petals falling from a cherry tree. His penetrating gaze is locked on mine.
Our chests rise in unison.
One deep breath until finally?—
The kiss is burning hot the second his lips touch mine, and I scramble up to my knees. Huxley catches me as if he was expecting me all along, his hand holding on to my waist as I quickly straddle him. Pressing my hands against the sides of his face, I deepen our kiss, relishing the unexpected feel of his tongue piercing, mindlessly grinding my hips against his. He groans into my mouth, pulling me harder onto him.
My lust spikes to a feverish degree, and I stop thinking clearly.
My mind narrows into one singular thought.
Never breaking the kiss, I slip my hands between us and fumble with Huxley’s studded belt, but his hands quickly find mine. Wrapping his fingers around mine, he stops me.
“You’re not getting me that easily,” he says in between kisses.
His tone is playful, but his hands tighten, holding me captive.
I straighten on his lap so I can look at him.
I smile coyly. “I thought you wanted this?”
Teasing him, I grind my hips against what I’mprettyconvinced is his hardened cock.
His smile is dark and steamy, but he doesn’t let go of my hands.
“Not like this,” he says, his voice nonetheless dripping with want.
“Why?” The word is close to a whine. I nibble at his bottom lip. “Because Dusia is right outside?” I lean down and pepper his jawline with kisses. “We can sneak quickly into the bathroom, for old times’ sake?”
Huxley’s body stiffens under me, and I realize too latethat I’ve said the wrong thing. My head pops up, and I study his facial expression.
But Huxley has retreated, and his expression is giving me nothing.
“I’m not something you can use and throw away whenever you feel like it.” His voice is soft like a whisper, a small thread of pining woven throughout his sentence.
“Who said anything about —”
He gently pushes me off him, and I don’t resist, too stunned by the shift in mood to protest.
“I thought I could do this with you, but I can’t,” he says as he stands up. He paces up to the windows, swiping his hand over his buzzed head, the other against his hip.
“Dowhatexactly? What just happened?” I’m annoyed, but try to keep my voice calm.
He lets his hands fall to his sides; he’s still facing away from me, but I catch his defeated shrug before he turns around. I’m not ready for the vulnerability I find in his gaze when he faces me. The pain that he’s trying to hide under such nonchalance.
It makes me hate myself.
