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I am incredibly distracted when he unzips his pants and slides up his gray T-shirt. I see a flash of his abs, but it’s the waistband of his underwear I shouldn’t be seeing. It’s black and stretched over taut muscles. The fabric beneath the black band is gray.
I wait for him to take his pants all the way off, but he doesn’t. Once they’re unbuttoned, he straddles me on the lounger, trapping me beneath his weight.
My pulse poundseverywhere. I can hear it, feel it. I’m surprised I can’t taste it.
There’s only one move I can think to make.
So, without hesitation, I grab Landon’s hair and pull his face close. I kiss him, holding my breath at first, like I’m diving into the deep end of a pool without a marked depth. I don’t know if I’ll crash into something hard that will break me, but I know it’s a distinct possibility.
His body tenses at first, obviously surprised by my aggression, by the feeling of my lips pressed willingly against his. But it only takes a split second for him to respond. He knows I don’t know what I’m doing, and he does, so he pushes a hand into my hair and cradles my skull, pulling me close as his mouth dominates mine. I’m breathless for a completely different reason, forgetting what to do with my hands. Forgetting that I did this for a reason.
Slowly, the reason comes back to me. I gasp against his mouth and angle my neck as he moves his rough kisses across my jaw and down the sensitive column. Even his kisses are scary and aggressive, so fucking hungry, like he’s trying to suck my soul out through my skin. It hurts when he bites me. I shiver when he follows it up by dragging his hot tongue across my flesh.
Fuck.
It feels demented the way he marks me, but it kindles something inside me, too.
My stomach rocks with nerves as I remind myself I didn’t kiss him to trigger a mauling. I kissed him to distract him.
Tentatively, I let my hand crawl over his muscular back. I skim his sides and let my hand settle at the waistband of his jeans. I know they’re loose since he unzipped them, but I can’tsee. I don’t want to reach into the wrong pocket of fabric and end up with his dick in my hand.
Thatis too far to go to distract him.
His body radiates heat that makes me sweat, and the nervousness doesn’t help. I’m on fire as I tentatively slide my hand lower, keeping my touch as light as possible as I finger the fabric, trying to find the pocket where he keeps his phone.
I feel the hard edge of something and hold my breath, listening for any sound from him that might indicate my fingers are touching the wrong thing. I dig my fingers through his hair and angle my neck to keep his attention where I need it, and then I walk my fingers along the item’s hard edge.
Relief rushes through me when I confirm it’s a rounded, rectangular shape.
I went fishing in the right pocket.
As slowly and carefully as I can, I draw the phone out of his pocket. I moan and caress his scalp to keep him busy marking up my neck.
Dammit,the fucking phone is locked.
Of course it is.
There’s no way I can convince him my skin feels like a screen and press his thumb against the damn thing, so I have to try something else.
The camera still works.
I touch it and turn the screen around. I snap a quick picture of him mauling me, then I touch edit and—
Nope.
Fuck.
I try to send it to Malek without the “help!” text written across my face as initially intended, but I can’t send it with the phone locked, either.
I close out of the unhelpful picture and click emergency call. I don’t know Malek’s number. I saw Javi’s written down recently, but I’m so used to texting names instead of numbers, I didn’t pay close attention to it except when I was putting it in my phone.
I don’t know anyone’s number by heart except for Mom’s and Hannah’s.
I can’t call Mom, so I tap out Hannah’s phone number…
Only to be shut down when the stupid thing tells me “emergency calls only.”
This is a fucking emergency call, you stupid piece of shit!
