“You’re lying.”
“What?”
“Your nostrils flared. Your nostrils always flare right before you lie. You’re lying, you don’t think we can just be friends.”
“We can be friends.” Her response was about as convincing as “Rolex” sold out of a trunk.
I started walking towards her, slowly, and the pulse on her neck sped as her eyes dilated.
“I’m in love with you, which would be fine, but I also want to tear your clothes off and fuck you every time I see you. And I think you want me to. Do you want me to?”
“No.”
Her nose wasn’t flaring. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she didn’t feel the same. But her eyes, there was so much in them.
I paused halfway. “You don’t want me to?”
She licked her lips, and a tiny grin appeared. “This is a nice dress, I don’t want you to tear it.”
Fuck. My dick hardened. Billie’s eyes were wide and glinting in the closet’s half-light, pupils blown and breathing shallow, like she’d just sprinted a hundred meters and refused to show the effort.
I could feel the temperature rise by degrees, the heat crawling under my skin, the air itself growing heavy with anticipation. When I closed the space between us in a single stride, it was less of a decision than an inevitability. The faint, lingering trace of her perfume, some citrus and floral scent that I could never pin down but always noticed when she was close. It was intoxicating and dizzying.
Her back flattened against the battered supply closet door with a soft thump, the impact barely a brush but enough to make her gasp. I lowered my head, without a conscious thought, not even realizing until her breath hit my jaw, warm and trembling. My hands hovered, uncertain for half a heartbeat, before I gave in and cradled her face, thumbs grazing her cheekbones and jawline, memorizing the contour of her. She looked up at me as if daring me to do something reckless, so I obliged.
Our mouths found each other in a rush. The first contact was explosive—urgent and hungry and electric as hell. There was nothing chaste about it. Billie parted her lips and our tongues met in a collision that felt equal parts war and surrender. She tasted of cherry and adrenaline. I groaned, low in my throat, and kissed her harder, deeper, pulling her closer until there was no light between us.
She responded in kind, threading her fingers into the nape of my neck, tugging with just enough force to say I wasn’t the onlyone on the brink. Her nails scraped my scalp, sending a pleasant shockwave all the way down my spine. For a split second I remembered where we were—closet, bar, people just down the hall—but the thought was obliterated by the feeling of her body pressed flush against mine, the relentless, needy friction.
I traced the curve of her spine, one hand moving from her face to the barest slope of her shoulder, where the thin strap of her dress had slipped out of place. With deliberate slowness, I nudged it further, exposing the warm, soft skin beneath. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t stop me. Another inch and the strap fell, then the other, pooling against her biceps in a whisper of fabric. My hand trembled—from the sheer force of wanting—when I cupped her bare breast, my thumb grazing her nipple until it pebbled under my touch.
She made a sound, not quite a moan, but close, and arched into me. The sudden movement pressed her harder against the door, the dull clang of the lock punctuating every shift. I broke the kiss to move my mouth lower, skimming along her jaw, her neck, the hollow just below her ear that always, always made her shiver. I nipped at her collarbone, following the line to her chest, and then I was there, licking and sucking at her puckered peak, her hands twisting in my hair like she might never let go.
“Yes,” she gasped, the sound muffled but needy, and pulled my head closer, as if she could fuse us together by sheer force of will.
I obliged, lavishing her with my mouth, my tongue, alternating between gentle licks and sharp, wet pulls that made her writhe against me. I could feel every shift of her body, every goosebump that rose under my hands, and it drove me forward like a man possessed.
Her hands were everywhere, pushing off my jacket, raking down my back, tugging my shirt loose, sliding under the fabric to rake blunt nails along my skin. I wanted her so badly I couldbarely see straight. In a flurry of movement, I caught her around the waist and hoisted her up, letting the wall bear her weight. She gripped my shoulders, strong and sure, and wrapped her legs around me, the skirt of her dress bunched at her thighs and riding higher with every pulse of movement.
For a moment, we just stared at each other, both breathing hard and wild-eyed, the world outside the closet gone completely silent. There was a kind of madness to it, her lips were swollen from kissing, the way she gave me that look, half dare, half plea, all Billie.
She rocked her hips into me, and the friction nearly undid me. I growled, and her answering whimper was pure sex. “You feel so good,” she whispered, her voice a shade lower than usual, eyes locked on mine.
“So do you,” I whispered back, and kissed her again, slower this time, drawing it out until she moaned with impatience.
I let my hands roam down her sides and over her ass, fingers digging in just enough to set her firmly in place. Then I braced her body with my hips, my palms staking her bare thighs to the wall, and moved my hand between her legs, grazing the tender skin just below the hem of her dress. The fabric was damp where it pressed against her, the heat of her arousal bleeding through the satin covering her sex. The sight of her, lips parted, cheeks flushed, chest heaving with every shallow inhale, was enough to make my vision go black at the edges. I pressed my fingers to the front of her panties, feeling the slick and desperate pulse of her body through the barrier. She sighed, her nails digging into the back of my neck, and I thought I might lose it right there.
“So wet for me.”
I slid my hand up, fingers working under the elastic. She was soaked. I massaged her folds, up and down her seam, and she let out a small, whimpering sound that almost made come in my pants. I dipped one finger inside her, then two, slowly, savoringthe way her body contracted around me. I could feel her muscles trembling, feel her hips start to rock in time with my hand.
But even as I worked her, I couldn’t stop tasting her. I lowered my head, trailing kisses down her neck, biting gently at the curve where her shoulder met her collarbone. She tasted sweet and salty and Billie, the only flavor I’d ever wanted. Her hands scrabbled at my shirt, trying to haul it off or maybe just cling to something that felt real. Her eyes rolled back as I sucked a nipple into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue. The way she arched into me, shameless and hungry, made me feel like a fucking king.
She was desperate, trembling, rolling her hips into my touch. I straightened so I could see her face, watching her eyes flutter open and closed, dark with want. She reached for my waistline and the next thing I knew she’d unzipped my pants and was yanking out my cock with urgency. She wrapped her fingers around me, stroking with the same rhythm I was using on her.
“Fuck,” I groaned, as my balls tingled and tighten.
It was primal, the way she took me in her hand, while I flicked her clit, both of us locked in a rhythm so synchronized it felt like a chemical chain reaction—one spark away from setting off the entire lab. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears, matching the staccato gasp of her breath and the frantic movement of her hips. Pleasure spiraled through me. Tingling explosions began to burst throughout my body. I held her tight to the wall, her legs cinched around my waist, her ass cupped in my palms, and her whole body vibrating with an energy so wild I thought the room itself might break apart.
