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His mouth is searching and hungry as my lips open to him and I sink further into his touch. His tongue sweeps in, wet and hot and eager. He swallows my moan, his hands dropping to my hips and then slowly trail up my stomach while his hips grind harder into mine.
“Please forgive me,” he repeats, breathing against my lips. The sound of his voice finds a home inside my bones. Suddenly, the urge to cry overcomes me. A wave of emotions dragging me under as I struggle to breathe. He holds me tightly to him, biting my lower lip, tender but so full of need. I’m lost. Drowning, while his tongue finds my own, a desperate need pulling me even deeper into the depths.
Then, like a dagger to the heart, terror tears through the lust and my body locks up. A fear so visceral it ravages through me, making me gasp out for air and break away from our heated kiss.
The words stick in my throat while my eyes desperately search his. Byzantine says nothing but holds me even closer, wrapping his strong arms around me before I have the time to push him away. He kisses my temple and caresses my hair as if soothing a frightened animal. My body begins to shake as he continues to hold me.
What the fuck is happening to me?
My breathing is shallow, the panic starting to rise. I try to fight Byzantine off but he refuses to let me go. I can either fight him and let the panic take over or allow him to hold me like this—and neither feels safe. Eventually, my arms fall limp to my side, my face finding the crook of Byzantine’s neck. I squeeze my eyes shut and relent, seeking the undeniable comfort his body offers.
Somehow, the soothing smell of him grounds me back to reality. Even if I hate to admit his calming effect on me.
Byzantine mutters low, pacifying words as he cradles me. I hear him whisper “My windflower,” into my hair but I’m too far gone to question what he just said. Suddenly, a wave of embarrassment takes hold of me and I struggle out of his embrace, mortified by my reaction to our kiss. I try to take a step back but he snatches my hand, seeming to ensure I don’t escape.
I rub the top of my shoe against my calf, like a child caught red-handed and let out a small shameful laugh. “Well that was weird...”
Byzantine doesn’t answer, and stays silent, his eyes looking almost vacant, lost deep in thought.
Finally, he lets go of my hand and I bring my fingers up to my lips. I can still taste him on my tongue and I wince thinking how badly I ruined the moment. I have no clue what to do so I just turn around and head the opposite direction. That seems to snap Byzantine out of his trance and he catches up with me.
“Sunny stop, don’t run away again.”
Again?
There’s enough of a plea in his voice that I stop in my tracks and glance back at him. His eyes hold a similar desperation to the words he just uttered.
What the hell is happening?
It was just a kiss.
A kiss that almost sent me to my knees and left Byzantine with a cursed look on his face.
He holds his hand up in offering. “Come for a drive?”
There’s an innocence to his question, as if a drive will solve the quicksand we happen to be sinking in.
I look down at his hand, my thoughts a terrifying swirl in my head and then back up at him. He smiles and I sigh. I place my hand into his. “Okay.”
Byzantine’s car speeds down the winding road. The windows are open, billowing in the fresh oceanside wind while I rest my head in the nook of my bent elbow.
We haven’t said much since the kiss that sent me spiraling. He’s been quiet, his stormy eyes the only indication that he might be as rattled as me. Luckily for me my brain is still fried from my hangover, plus I have an uncanny ability of compartmentalizing anything that may threaten my more than fragile status quo.
I’m sure the therapist I ghosted a few years ago has a more technical term for it. So for now I focus on the air brushing against my cheeks. The wind is tinged with cold humidity, carried from the water to our left. I breathe in deep, enjoying the fact that I’m outside city limits for a change. Maybe I should be worried that I have no idea where Byzantine is taking us but I’m too tired to ask nor do I really care at this point.
If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already. Although, he might be trying to kill me in different ways—much deeper than physical.
I can’t shake the feeling he’s hiding something from me. Like he’s hiding something about him and I. About this crackling tension between us.
I let out a breath and readjust my head on my arm. Maybe I’m just imagining things. Wouldn’t be the first time I read into things. I look over and idly watch Byzantine drive, his toned arm flexing ever so slightly anytime he reaches over to change gears.
He senses me watching and peeks over, a playful side grin suddenly appearing but it’s gone as fast as it came. My heart pinches while I continue studying him. The scar on his neck is always so stark against his skin. His casual black tee hugging his shoulders and biceps.
The man only wears black. I don’t hate it. At all.
Then, my mind drifts back to the night he told me Gary was responsible for him almost dying. I swallow down the knot in my throat at the thought that Byzantine nearly died years before I met him. Is it weird that it bothers me? I didn’t even know him then and I'm only now starting to get to know him. I guess we both have that in common.
The almost dying part.
