The idea of pushing into her has my hips jerking before I even realize I'm doing it. I grab one of her pretty legs, pull it up to wrap it around my hip and stroke up her thigh, my fingers sliding over silky skin.
Damn, this girl …
Her hands land on my shoulders. She digs her short nails into my flesh, and the pain feels good as I keep kissing her, exploring her mouth with my tongue. She moans, and fuck, my cock twitches, ready to go. Christ, I wanna do things with her I've never done before-like lick her all over, kiss her until we both pass out from lack of oxygen, hold her … never let her go.
I break the kiss and scramble back, struggling to get my breathing under control.
"Dammit. I didn't mean to do that." Liar. Fucking liar. I've been dying to do this since I first laid eyes on her.
Her fingertips trail over her reddened lips, her eyes wide. Sprawled on my ratty blankets, one strap of her blouse hanging off her shoulder, she looks like a dream come true.
But a dream, still, and I shouldn't. Not with her. Because she matters to me, I realize with a jolt. She matters like no other girl before.
I'm so fucked. This wasn't supposed to happen. If she doesn't hate me now, she will, and then …
"JJ." And how can I push her away when she calls me this, when she looks at me like I'm something I'm not?
"Just checking you were okay," I say gruffly, getting off the bed and running a hand over my shorn hair.
"You were checking." Her voice drops to a mere whisper, and if I was hoping for sarcasm, I never get it. She only sounds … disappointed.
Then again, that's what I do. I disappoint people I care for, and what I feel for her is too big for words.
"You seem okay now," I say and go to stand by the window, looking out at a sliver of cloudy sky and the gray building across the street. "I should get going soon. Don't wanna be late for work."
She makes a small sound, and I turn toward her. She's sitting up, smoothing down her blouse, lifting the strap back into place, and I can't stop staring at her. She's so sexy, and she doesn't seem to even know it. "You don't start at the café until four."
Forcing my gaze away, I turn back to the window. I should be irritated that she calls me out on my bluff. But I'm not.
"Still have to go." I need to do something else first … something that has been bugging me ever since I told her what happened on that street and how I got my scars.
"Where?" She walks without a sound to stand beside me.
"Is that your second question?"
She shakes her head, glares, and I can breathe again. "You're a bastard."
"I couldn't tell you for sure." I shrug and brace one arm on the wall by the window. "Don't know who my parents are. It's possible, I guess."
"Not funny, JJ." Back to being pissy. The pressure in my chest releases, and I grin at her. I don't have to run away. Somehow I'm not ready to give her up-yet-even if I barely have her at all.
"Never said it was."
Neither of us seems willing to talk about the elephant in the room. Kissing her was heaven. Now I'm shooting down the rabbit hole faster than a bullet.
She walks a few steps away and comes to a halt in front of my drawings. I've got some taped to the wall. Easier for me to tell if they are good crap or bad crap this way, rather than having them inside my drawing pad.
"Did you make these?" she asks.
"No, I rent them with the room," I say before I can get control of my mouth. "It came furnished."
"Really?"
"No. I drew them." I want to walk to where she is and put my arms around her, bury my nose in the crook of her pale neck. But of course I don't.
"Love the portraits." She drifts further away, scrutinizing my art, then returns to the window.
"I also draw monsters and flowers. Monsters are my specialty." It's the truth. From demons to dragons to strange hybrids.
"Monsters, huh?"
She's so close. Again. Her faint coconut scent wafts up to me, makes me think of sun-kissed beaches and palm trees. She's wearing small silver hoops in her ears, tiny beads threaded in them, green, and red, and white, and blue.
"What about you? Did you make the earrings you're wearing, or are you renting them with your clothes?" I want to touch them, tug on them, bite the shell of her small ear, make her moan again like before …
She laughs, reaches up to touch one hoop, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop a groan. Fuck, I've never wanted a chick so much in my life. What is it about her that's so intoxicating?
"Yeah, I made them. I'm thinking of selling them. I want to open an online store."
"Sounds like a great idea." I lick my lips and regret it instantly. Her sweet taste lingers, and the hard-on I've been trying to lose returns with a vengeance. Fuck.
How on Earth am I going to manage this? How can I stop myself from kissing her again, touching her, thrusting into her when she's here, right here with me? Hell.
My gaze is drawn back to the curve of her tits under the thin fabric of her blouse. She's not wearing a bra, I think, and damn if my dick's not back to drilling a hole through my pants.
"That might mean I'll stay," she says, and the words take a minute to sink into my brain.
"Stay?"
"I came here for the summer, to see if I like it. If this place doesn't make me run away in a panic. You know. Bad memories."
I know all about bad memories, but the thought of her leaving has my stomach in a knot. "And if your online store works out, you think you'd like it here?"
"Maybe. I like Kayla, and Ev is here, too. I haven't had anything trigger my panic so far."
"Except Travis. My roommate?"
She snorts softly. "It wasn't so bad."
Yeah, right. Few times have I wanted to punch someone so badly. Damn roomies. "I thought you were here to go to college."
"I might. I'm thinking of transferring here, to the art department."
"Do you draw?"
She shakes her head, her ponytail bouncing. I want to grab it, wrap her silky hair around my hand to hold her still while I fuck her mouth with my tongue.
Jesus fucking Christ.
"I want to draw you." The words are out of my mouth before my brain connects. "If you'd like."
"Now?" Her eyes are round, and I want to kick myself. She's kept her cool so far, but I bet she's about to run out of here and never come back.
The thought hurts too much. Much more than I ever thought.
"Not now. I have to go. And you don't have to do this," I say, feeling like ten kinds of idiot for suggesting it.
"I don't mind."
She doesn't? I'm staring at her open-mouthed, and I don't know what to say. I can see uncertainty in her eyes, in the quiver of her jaw. She's fighting something, and I'm not sure what it is, but that feeling that she reminds me of someone is back, stronger than ever.
Speak, J. Say something.
"Awesome, then," I mumble. "How about tomorrow morning, here?"
She nods quickly, too quickly. Nervously. She glances at my leather bracelet as though she wants to ask something, but she doesn't.
"Tomorrow," she says and leaves me alone, hard and aching for her, and confused like never before in my life.
A walk into my dark past serves to clear my mind from any doubts about the future. Down the same dirty streets where I slept, passing from the park gate where Zane found me trying to tattoo the demon on my chest after losing Helen to the place where I got my scars.
I stare at the dumpster and the graffiti that are part of my nightmares, not sure what I'm doing, what I expect to find, and how to fix the hole in my chest that opens every time I remember it all.
What I don't expect is to find Jason, an old buddy from those days. Haven't seen him in months. In combat boots, tight jeans and a black tank top, his blond hair gelled up in a fauxhawk, he's leaning on a wall at the corner to the avenue, trying to look cool and nonchalant. Like he has no worries in the world, and just happened to stop by for a second to rest and observe the passersby.
Oldest profession in the world.
He turns when he hears my footsteps crunching on broken glass-so much broken glass, it makes my scars itch-and his eyes go comically wide.
"Pinch me now," he says and grins rakishly. "Jesse Lee, as I live and breathe. I heard you moved up the social ladder, buddy. What the fuck are you doing back here in the gutter? Came to take photos of your past?"
His words hit too close to home, and I turn my head to hide a wince. Schooling my face into a neutral mask, I bump fists with Jason and shake hands.
"How's it hanging, man?"
"You know how it is." He tsks and nods at the busy avenue. "Work, work, work. You should be the one to tell me tales now. You said you were going to work at a tattoo shop in the center of town. How did that work out for you?"
"It's great," I say and mean it. So great in fact that I often feel guilty for everyone I used to know, like Jason, who didn't get that opportunity. "You should come visit me one day."