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Arch starts walking, until he’s standing directly in front of me. He reaches out, his fingers slipping beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his. His thumb streaks back and forth along my jaw. Down my throat. Making my stomach flutter with nerves. And something else.
Desire.
“You’re kinkier than I thought,” he drawls, and if my cheeks could catch fire, they would be doing exactly that right now.
“I am not kinky,” I insist, my protest weak.
“You like the dirty stuff though. Which is surprising.”
“It’s easier to admit when it’s done anonymously.” My breath hitches when he continues to stroke my throat with his fingers. “You like dirty stuff too.”
“Of course, I do. What guy doesn’t want to shove his cock down his girl’s throat?” He says the words so matter-of-factly, but my brain is still stuck on the last part of the sentence:his girl’s throat.
It’s not even the mention of cock that has me all fluttery and weak.
It’s the way he saidhis girl. As if that’s what I am to him.
Before I even realize what he’s doing, he grabs my hand, tugging me closer, our bodies colliding, sparks seeming to light up between us. It is such a complete relief that we’re on good terms once again that I’m tempted to melt into him and beg him to never let me go.
But I don’t. It’s still so hard for me to admit I have feelings for him—feelings that I don’t even fully understand.
Feelings I’ve never confessed to anyone before. What we share is…special. Overwhelming.
Does he feel the same way? About me?
“I want to give you an early birthday present,” he announces with a smirk.
I tilt my head back, smiling up at him. “What do you want to give me?”
He tilts his head close to mine, his mouth brushing my ear as he whispers, “An orgasm.”
Giving in to my urges, I lean into him, tilting my head to the side, wishing he’d keep talking.
“Have you made yourself come before, Daze?”
I close my eyes, trembling. This is even harder to admit than how I feel about him.
“You can tell me,” he reassures. “It’ll be our secret.”
Slowly, I nod. I can feel him smile and sort of want to die.
“With your fingers?”
“Yes.” I swallow hard.
“What if I said I wanted to give you one with my fingers.” Those same fingers are streaking down my side, toying with the hem of my skirt.
“Not here,” I whisper.
“Definitely not here.” His mouth finds my neck, his lips warm and soft and I tilt my head back on a sigh. “There’s somewhere I want to take you.”
“Where?”
“Do you trust me?”
I shouldn’t. I absolutely, one hundred percent should not trust this boy as far as I can throw him. I will end up giving my entire heart and soul to him and he will hurt me. That much is guaranteed.
“Yes,” I whisper like the fool that I am.
