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He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. His sea-breeze scent enveloped me, coaxing me to toss my hair back and relax, promising that in his arms I could let my guard down.
My breath caught.
He was too close. I wasn’t supposed to let him get close.
His lips parted ever so slightly. A dark seriousness cast over his expression, making his espresso irises appear black as night.
These weren’t just mixed signals—this was a mess of wires with a kitten in the middle chewing through and destroying every circuit.
He kissed me.
It wasn’t playful like the smooch on the slopes. It wasn’t harsh and hateful like the clash of mouths in the hotel after. This was an entirely different beast, firm and deliberate, coaxing and sure.
He kissed me to tell me what we couldn’t get right in words. He kissed me to tell me that it wasn’t hatred that he felt toward me, or if it was, that wasn’t the entirety of it.
He craved me. He wanted me. And just like me, he wanted more.
I kissed him back, hard and heated.
I told myself that kisses didn’t have to mean anything, but it was a lie. Kisses like this—if there was ever anything that could compare—meant everything.
His hands roamed, carrying wanton desire with them.
I jumped up around his waist, wrapping my legs around his middle and my arms around his neck. He caught me easily, his grip sure and possessive.
With my kiss, I wordlessly begged for him to stay with me a little longer. I promised I could see that gooey bit inside of him that he kept from the world, and that I would protect itas fiercely as he did. Without speaking a word, I swore that he could trust me.
My shoulders met the wall, and he held me there, pulling back from my mouth. His hard cock pressed up against my pussy, and he pinned me with a look of searing sincerity.
With a voice so rough it could scrape concrete, he said, “You are so far from repulsive it’s blinding me.”
I grinned at his swollen lips. “You think I’m pretty.”
“You’re fucking gorgeous.”
I kissed him again. This time it didn’t mean anything—no promises, no hidden riddles I needed him to decipher. I kissed him because his lips were the best thing I’d ever tasted, and because in the murky in-between, where there was no definition or label, I was free to do exactly what I wanted.
And right now, I wanted him.
“Condom in the drawer,” I told him.
He took us to the dresser, and I fumbled through to find one.
He set me down at the back of the sofa. “Strip.”
It was a command, and my body wanted to obey. But my brain liked the fight. “You strip.”
I watched as he did as I said without hesitation.
He dropped his jacket and his paint-stained t-shirt. He took off his shoes and pulled down his pants and his boxers along with them. He stood completely bare to me, all muscles and delicious tanned skin for me to devour.
“Your turn,” he said.
I obeyed, leaving my bra and panties on, a small act of rebellion.
He grabbed me, planted a surprisingly chaste kiss on my forehead, then flipped me around and bent me over the top of the sofa. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Never,” I said.
