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It’s not about love.
It’s raw, it’s primal, it’s bared back. It’s clawing at flesh and taking what’s underneath.
We both want the same thing.
We want to pretend.
It’s sick, but so am I.
This heart has been withering for a long time.
“No kissing,” he replies hoarsely, his breath mingling with mine.
“One night,” I say, determined, knowing that I need this, and I allow myself to do it.
I need one night.
He needs one night to pretend. To fall into oblivion. To nip this attraction in the bud and release it from our system.
We’ll feed our hungry curiosity and move on.
“One night,” he agrees against my mouth.
Even after setting our rules, the same want is in our eyes.
I need him.
I need his body on mine.
I need to feel.
I just need.
I probably need more than I’m asking for, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as his hand fists in my hair, tugging as his mouth finds the hollow of my neck. I shiver, so wound up I almost come undone. Still flat against the wall, his body is hot, burning, and I’m engulfed by blue flames licking my skin. My moan is loud, becoming strangled in my throat as my voice betrays my body.
There’s an unspoken rule.
One neither of us dare to speak because when we do, it will give weight to our confession. To our promise.
No falling in love.
His tongue lashes against my skin. I know in my heart it’s not strong enough to mark, not strong enough to bruise, but it does.
An electricity fires throughout my body until I can’t take it.
“Jake,” I cry.
He peels me from the wall. I wrap my unsteady arms around his neck, climbing, wanting support, anything his body can offer.
He walks in the opposite direction from where we came.
We’re not going back to my room.
We’re going to his bedroom.
His bed.
His territory.
