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“Answer me. You’ll do anything to save yourself from me, yeah?”
I nod. Wordlessly. Like a little, plastic, brainless doll.
“Then let’s see how much you wanna be saved. Show me how much you hate me, Blue. Spread your fucking legs.”
I get a serious case of shivers at his low tone. I’m not sure if my thighs drop open themselves or he powers his way between them.
But suddenly, he’s here.
Between my thighs.
“You’re an a-asshole,” I stumble over my words, raking my nails over his chest, panting slightly at the bulk of him.
“Heard you the first thousand times before.”
Zach’s hands travel down from my waist, smooth down my dress, and the throb follows. My skin beats like my bleeding heart.
He keeps going until he reaches the hem of my dress, just above my knees. In the silence of the bathroom, my harsh breaths are the only sound. I couldn’t stop them, even if I wanted to. I need extra air, extra oxygen to be able to survive this.
His bronzed hands get under the skirt and all I can see are his wrists, one of them with the tattoo peeking out.
The feel of his callused fingers makes me whip my eyes up at him. Only to find him watching his hands on me, as well. Something about that is so… needy. As if he has to look with his own eyes before believing that he’s touching me.
Touching the tender skin of my thighs, making me squirm.
“Zach…”
He lifts his eyes up to me. “Are you a virgin?”
My thighs shake at the intimacy of his question. At the expanse of his broad chest that’s filling up my entire vision.
“What?”
“Your cherry. Do you have it?”
I should push him away. I can end this whole thing now. I can just jump down from the counter and take off. I don’t care if he ruins my dates, uses me for his amusement.
I don’t care. It’s okay. I don’t want to date or fall in love or anything even remotely that.
As long as I don’t feel this way. Heavy and panting and so, so lazy yet so awake and throbbing.
But my mouth opens and I answer his question, instead. “No.”
His thumb moves in circles, hot and rough against my soft skin, as he says, “You’re lying.”
I am.
“I’m not,” I reply, fighting against the effect of his circling thumbs.
Why is it hypnotic?
It’s making me drowsy.
His skin is flayed and half peeled-off in places – probably from the bike – and every circle he makes feels scrape-y, full of friction.
Zach’s mouth stretches into a lazy smile. “But you blush like one.”
Then he moves again. Putting pressure on my thighs, he slides me down the counter until my ass almost hangs over the edge. He hitches up my calves around his waist and my ankles cross at the small of his back, just over his tight butt.
