Page 82 of Bad at Love
He pulls back, enough for his hooded eyes to meet mine, raw lust burning behind them, the music and the alcohol and the years of pent up sexual frustration are combining to make me want to be stripped bare of every single inhibition.
I don’t know how long our eyes are locked like this. Our bodies are locked like this. Our hearts are locked like this. An eternity passes where all our unsaid words are passed between us like prayers.
“Sweet girl,” he whispers to me seconds before his mouth crushes mine.
I groan against his lips, his mouth hot and wet and hungry. This is a deep kiss, the kind of kiss you shouldn’t have on a public dance floor. It’s pulled out from a wild and charged place far inside me, a place I’ve always kept the bars on, keeping back my primal instincts like you would predators in a zoo.
I’ve never felt this kind of starvation before, you’d think I’d been deprived of him my whole life.
And I have been.
I’ve been deprived of everything, these kisses, this touching, so much.
So much.
But not anymore.
“Laz,” I gasp as I pull back, my heart a jackhammer as my eyes search his.
We should get a room.
Ask him to your room.
Ask him to go to the bathroom with you.
Fuck, do something!
“You’ve got such perfect lips,” he says, running his thumbs over them before leaning in and taking my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking, tugging. His breath is ragged, the heat coming off him is staggering.
My eyes roll back in my head, my patience a thin line ready to snap.
“I could kiss you for days,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down my back to my ass where he grabs hold.
“I think I would go mad.” I gasp, my fingers pressing hard into his taut shoulders. Somehow we’re still moving to the beat, yet it’s no longer the beat of the song but the beat of something we’ve created just between the two of us. An easy rhythm, like our bodies were built to move this way with each other.
God, is this what fucking him is like? Is it somehow better?
As if he can hear my thoughts, Laz pulls me closer. “By the way, I fuck better than I dance,” he whispers in my ear. “Better than I sing. Better than I write. Better than I do most things.” He brushes my hair off my shoulder and slowly licks up the side of my neck before his lips come together right behind my ear. “Bet you didn’t know that about me. How much I love to fuck and how good I am at it.”
Holy shit.
I try and swallow but can’t. I’m wordless. I’m on fire.
I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.
That’s the thing I would normally say.
But that’s not happening tonight.
I want to be shown.
I want to know for once exactly what he thinks of me.
Exactly what he wants to do.
I press my hand into his chest, pushing him back just enough to look him dead in the eye.
“Prove it.”
