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My body demotes my brain to the sidelines, and I embrace the thousand ways we will inevitably crash and burn, but nothing, not even the gruesome images of our flaming hearts blowing into a thousand pieces, is enough to repel me.
God, he’s such a good kisser.
I feel like I could collapse at any moment, like my body can’t possibly sustain his kiss, and I wind up grasping at his rich-kid shirt like he’s a life raft. We’re clawing at each other’s hair, clothes, faces, chasing a fix that’s set on eluding us, and we don’t even react when a bottle of wine slips off the rack and hits the floor.
I barely hear the bottle shatter.
I barely notice the liquid pooling at my feet.
All I can feel is Finn disrupting the kiss for a moment, then banding his hands around the backs of my thighs to lift me up into his arms.
My legs loop around his waist as Finn slams our bodies against the rack once more, his palms gripping my ass cheeks for support. Then he’s kissing me again. And again. I always thought my first “boyfriend” would take it slow, but now that I’m giving my first kiss to the monster sleeping down the hall…
I don’t want “slow.”
I want rough.
I want hard.
I want everything I shouldn’t.
I can’t stop myself from whining in disapproval the second his lips disconnect from mine to drag torturous kisses all over my jaw. I hear him laugh a raspy laugh at my desperation before running his tongue up my neck slowly, all the way to my earlobe.
Fucking hell.
I shiver deep in my bones when his teeth sink into my earlobe, and he tugs on it hard, luring a shy moan out of my throat.
One moan.
That’s it.
One moanand I feel him harden against my leggings.
Before I know it, he’s straining against the fabric of his sweats, and I part my legs like his own personal fuck toy. I hate myself for it, but it doesn’t deter me from tightening my ankles behind his back.
I know the friction I seek will put us on a collision course with disaster, but I couldn’t care less.
“Fuck, Dia,” Finn hisses through his teeth.
Did he just…
He said my name for the first time.
He. Said. My. Name.
Not “Gem.”
Not “Sitter Girl.”
Dia.
Why does it sound so good rolling off his tongue?
Operating on lust, I begin to move back-and-forth, rubbing myself against him until—
Holy shit.
My mouth dips open at the pleasure zapping through my stomach. He’s rock-hard now, his covered shaft hitting every single nerve endingin my clit with each thrust of my hips.
