I’m on him, flinging my body at his, hands fisting in the collar of his shirt and heaving him around until his back slams into the wall beside my bedroom door.
He grabs onto my wrists but doesn’t fight me off, gaze locking with mine as I rattle in gasps and pretend my eyes aren’t welling, pretend my head isn’t spinning, pretend I’m notdrowning.
His heart pummels against my knuckles pressed into his chest.
“Shut up,” I say again, pitifully, and I’m kissing him.
Three days. It’s only been three days since I kissed him—earlier tonight was barely a kiss, not like this—and the moment we connect, it’s oxygen after being submerged, it’s something Imissed. How could I have missed it? I’ve kissed plenty of people and never craved itas it was happening,never felt it trigger some otherworldly hunger that possesses me in a rage.
I release his shirt to clamp my fingers around his head and pull him down to me, our lips clashing, mine trying to devour tongue and teeth. He meets me in the furor and isn’t that dangerous? Shouldn’t one of us keep a handhold in reason? But he sucks my tongue into his mouth as he shoots his hands up under the back of my shirt, arching my body to his, and freefalling together is safer than anything else I want to do. Safer than anything else Iwoulddo, so I jump.
I bite across his jaw, the skin smooth and tasting faintly of sweat and shaving cream, until I get to his neck, to those black ink swirls. His hair hangs down and I rake my hand through it, twisting the strands around my thumb and fingers and jerking so his neck bows.
“Sebas—fuck,” he cuts off when my teeth graze the highest line of ink, a spiked vine that swirls up to his ear. I can feel the ridges of the tattoo under my tongue, slightly raised against his skin, and it’s another thing I add to this churning storm of need—I’ll need to do this again, and again, and—
His hands fumble my belt, faltering every time I lick and suck a new spot on his neck. He thumps his head back against the wall with a frustrated groan, and in a whirl of forearms against my chest and weight shifting, I’m the one with my back slamming to the wall, I’m the one with his height towering over me, pinning me in place.
“Bedroom?” he asks, lips ramming against mine in more bite than kiss.
I scramble at the knob next to me and he’s hauling me in before it’s all the way open, my shoulder smacking off the edge of the door. The blinds are cracked so streetlights haze the space yellow, but that’s the only light, and it’s enough; we don’t need to see much beyond the few inches in front of our faces.
Laundry and towels clutter the floor; I haven’t straightened up in a while, but the bed’s made, and we topple onto it. OrItopple onto it, thrown by Elethior gripping my waist and tossing me in a rush of movement he doesn’t give me any time to absorb before he’s crawling up my body. Shoes slip off, I get a few of the buttons on his shirt free, but he’s after my neck now, payback for the way I bit and sucked at him, and I lose all conscious thought beyondfuck yes, fuck yesas he laves his tongue up and down my throat.
I rock my hips into his, hardness rubbing on hardness and I’m disintegrating in lewd, frantic whimpers, the air between us damp with our exhales.
“More, need more.” I work at his shirt again. My fingers have lost all coordination and I’m ready to rip it off when he sits back on my hips and looks down at me, eyes taking me in, every inch.
“You’re so hot,” he moans like it hurts to say. “And seeing you all desperate for me—”
“I’m not desperate for you.”
He grins. “So I could leave now, no harm done?”
My hands scramble at him; I’m pretty sure I scratch him trying to hold him here. Not that I think he’ll leave, but Iamdesperate, and his smile goes triumphant.
He hangs there, one breath in, one out, watching me, and the pause has a cry twisting up in me. I don’t want to pause. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want tothink—
He puts his thumb on my lower lip. His face transforms, all teasing gone, and he looks at me likethatagain. “Can I suck you off?”
My brain shuts down. No one’s home, forward the mail, hire a plant-sitter.
But thatlookon his face.
I want him to look at me like he wants to eat me, not like he wants shit I can’t give.
“Gods damn it.” I clamp my fingers into his sides, up under his shirt, hoping I bruise him. “Not like this. Stop it.”
He frowns. “Not like what?”
“Like—sweet.”
His frown is baffled. “Is that another rule? I can’t be sweet to you?”
“No. You can’t. That’s not—”
“—what this is,” he finishes. He licks at his lip ring, thinking,stop thinking—
Then he leans down, and I arch up to kiss him again, intending to go ferocious, but he slams his hand around my neck and pushes my head back into the bedding. Not cutting off air, not pinching; just his grip there. Heavy. Secure.
