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I want you,my hardened nipples affirm beneath my braless shirt.
“I’m definitely going to regret this,” he growls as he reaches into his pocket and steps back. Two cylinders with knobs emerge. Nipple Suckers.
Faster,my eyelashes rush out with every rapid blink. He holds pleasure in his hands, bliss on his tongue. Time’s like an itch I scratch till it bleeds, and distance a pity when I want him near.
Live wire am I, currently ready to shock.
He smirks. “You want me to use these?”
“Absolutely.” There’s a moment after that where I come to my senses— a blip where I’m fully aware of the situation I’m in, how weird tonight is— but it vanishes with a touch. A single, gentle brush of his fingers along the waistband of my pants, and I’m all his. Down to be ravaged by him.
Styx clucks his tongue and steps back again. Like a tease, he shakes his head. “Have you even used this before, Snow?”
Snow.God, I fucking love that.
“Not those in particular, no. The one with the tiny s-spikes are interesting.”
Styx adjusts himself, drawing my attention to the bulge stretching out the material of his pants. Both of us aware of the timing, the air of danger, Lloyd’s ashes, but I don’t know what it is about this guy. About the way he holds those plastic cylinders like they’re the only cures left and he’s the only hope. It’s not prudent, or smart— it’s pure instinct. A craze of desire that leaves me lusting away by the God-forsaken minute.
Styx plays a dirty game of wait and see, first moves already drawn.
Two sets of eyes locked in position, two bodies held up at sexpoint—the most delicious form of assault on all the overdriven senses.
Styx has been attracted to me since the moment he saw me, and I’ve been attracted to him since before we even met. Sudden for him, maybe, but for me... the two of us have been down this road many times.
Many. Delicious. Times.
We’ve fucked before, loved before, laughed before.
We’ve hated and mated, and did dangerous things.
The only difference is the actual—the reality kidnapping us in the moment, the silence holding me hostage.
All he has to do is... Ask for ransom, I’ll pay with my body.
Styx takes another step forward. My fingers shake.
He parts his lips. My sex quakes. Drips.
“One question...” He stares at the shelves of erotic books. “Pleasure or pain?”
The books whisper, or so it sounds in my head, though that may just be the blood rushing uncontrollably.
“P-p-p...” I can’t even speak.
Reverse,I tell myself in attempts to stave the stutter. “Both.”
“Take your shirt off,” he says with a growl and lifts the suckers up. “Show me where you want them.”
When I reach for the button on my jeans, Styx chomps down on his lips and shoots his eyes to the ceiling in prayer. They’re on me almost as quick. I push down the zipper, no haste.
While I shimmy the tight black jeans down my thighs, Styx hooks his finger on his belt loop.
“I never thought granny panties would be a fucking turn on.”
As I glide the plain cotton polk-a-dot briefs down, I smile at him— at the way he’s reacting to me as if I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen on this planet. It empowers me, drives my movements and adds a bit more sass and curve to the them.
I had pictured a scene like this once, where he plummeted inside me on top of torn-out pages of these books, acting each scene out as if stamina and time never factored in.
