Page 10 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

But his hands are still on me, warm, insistent, tempting…

I glance towards the stairs and back at him. He’s watching me closely, his expression almost predatory, like he knows he’s already won. And maybe he has, because I can feel myself wavering.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice like honey. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingers brushing against my swollen lips. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

My breath hitches and before I can go too deep into my head, I nod. He grins and lifts me off him, and in one swift motion, he stands. His hand slips into mine, and he drags me towards the stairs, side stepping some busy couples on the way.

I trot up the stairs behind him, buzzing with excitement.

As we reach the top of the stairs, the noise from the party below falls away. Jack glances back at me, a grin on his face. His hand is firm and warm around mine, guiding me down thedimly lit hallway. Every step feels heavier, like I’m walking into something I can’t turn back from.

He pauses at a door and pushes it open with his shoulder, revealing a semi darkened room bathed in the glow of a singular desk lamp. It’s messy–clothes thrown about, empty beer cans littered about, a half empty bottle of tequila on the nightstand–but I barely register the mess, my mind is buzzing, the alcohol and weed mixing with adrenaline, making everything seem surreal.

Jack pulls me inside, kicking the door shut behind us. His hands find my waist and as he presses me against the door. His lips are on mine before I can process what’s happening, hot and insistent and I melt into him, all the tension from earlier dissolving into raw heat. I grab his collar, pulling him closer as everything else slips away.

For a brief moment, I forget the nagging thoughts, the weird tension from the creepy masked guy, everything that led here.

His hands trail up my sides, his touch firm and rough, igniting a spark of heat that spreads through me. His body presses harder against mine, and I can feel his arousal, hot and solid against my stomach. The kiss deepens and the room grows hotter, smaller with the thickening anticipation.

He tugs at the hem of my shirt and without thinking, I lift my arms, allowing him to pull it over my head. I hear the soft thud of it hitting the floor, but it’s muted, distant. He leans in again, his mouth trailing from my lips down to my neck, leaving a line of hot kisses along my skin.

For a moment, my mind flashes back to earlier in the night–the mask, that unsettling feeling–but Jack’s touch brings me back to the present. I push those thoughts aside, deciding to focus on the heat building between us, the way his touch makes me feel.

I press my hands against his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, and suddenly, I’m the one pushing. Hestumbles back, catching himself as he falls onto the mattress, grinning up at me with a look that sends a jolt of excitement coursing through me. His hands reach for me again, and I straddle him and lean in just close enough our breaths mingle.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks.

I smile and grind against him, reveling in the sharp intake of breath he takes in response. His grip tightens and I lose myself in the raw heat, how his hands feel on me, how good it feels to be touched and try to forget everything else.

But just as quickly, something shifts and a sliver of discomfort edges its way into my thoughts. I hesitate, the wild recklessness fading for a minute. The weight of the night, the strange tension from earlier creeps back into my mind and I pull away.

“What?” Jack asks, his hands still lingering at my hips.

I nod, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m fine” I say, though the words don’t hold any truth. Forcing a smile, I kiss him again, hoping the uneasy feeling in my stomach will unfurl but instead, it gets worse.

The warm buzz from the alcohol and weed seem to dissipate. I feel hollow, the nagging discomfort gnawing at the edge of my thoughts. I try to ignore the growing knot in my chest, but my mind is a million miles away.

I can’t do this.

The room spins and nausea twists my stomach. “Wait,” I mutter.

He pauses, his breath warm on my skin, his fingers still at my hips. “What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowed.

I swallow, trying to find the words, but all I can manage is, “I–I don’t think I can do this.”

Anger flickers in his eyes, quickly replaced by frustration. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I–I just…I feel weird,” I stammer, pushing myself to stand. My heart is pounding in my chest. My vision swims for a second, andI blink hard, glancing around for my shirt. The room tilts and I sway slightly. I clutch my head, trying to steady myself.

Shit, I need to get out of here. Where the hell am I?

I can feel the room closing in, the alcohol numbing my senses and nausea clawing its way up my throat. “I’m leaving.”

I reach for the door, the overwhelming need to escape surging in every nerve. My legs feel like jelly and the ground seems to shift under me, but I push through, my hand closing around the doorknob. My heart hammers in my chest as I twist the doorknob, the muffled sounds of the party seem to roar back to life as I crack the door open, a blast of noise and chaos flooding in. I relax for a bit as I feel the suffocating tension start to float away.

I step into the hallway, the noise of the party rushes to me but it feels distant, like I’m underwater. My legs are weak, and I grip the doorway, gasping for air that doesn’t fill my lungs. The hallway is dimly lit, but I can see shapes of people stumbling around, laughing, oblivious to my panic.

Suddenly, a hand grabs my arm, yanking me back into the room. I stumble, heart racing and turn to see Jack looming over me, his eyes darker than before and his grip tight.

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