Hand at the back of her neck, I held her face an inch from mine and kept her eyes captive, guiding her hips with gentle pressure from the other hand. My thumb rounded her throat and forced her chin up.
I shoved my nose to her neck and breathed.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered on a forced breath. Around her delicate throat, my hand traveled to the front and stopped. My pressure was light, but noticeable enough that her eyes opened and rounded, transfixed by mine as the song came to a close.
Everything was silent for one fraction of a second while the music changed over, and I swear I heard her heartbeat.
It’s probably my own.
“Hey, Lola?”
“Yeah?” she asked, scared. By me, by the intensity, by something even I couldn’t pinpoint, but mostly by the unknown mix of all of those things.
“Don’t ever check in with your location on Facebook again.”
“I…okay.”
I pressed my lips to her cheek, but I didn’t let them kiss—just the feel of her skin under them was enough.
Before she could ruin everything with questions or a fight, I forced myself to back away. One person between us led to two and three, and before I could count anymore, I turned and walked straight out and into the chilly night air to take my first sober gulp.
Something about her drugged me right into oblivion—and despite knowing the downsides of addiction, I couldn’t make myself stop loving it.
Just feel it, Lo.
Sweet shitting unicorns, even the memory of those words made my good places tingle. But as a connoisseur of many lonely nights, I knew just how to use that erotic energy practically.
I’d slept like a baby thanks to a self-induced orgasm and spent most of my day browsing the internet while watching episodes of Friends on Netflix.
And by most of my day, I actually meant my entire day. I had been the epitome of lazy. And now, night had settled across the city, and the glow of the streetlights filtered through the glass windows of my living room. Obviously, the time for doing something productive had passed—and I was okay with that.
But no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering back to the one person I was trying my damnedest not to think about. He had truly become a parasite, first by consuming my thoughts, and now, by actually stalking me to public places.
What I found most concerning, however, was how much his stalker tendencies weren’t freaking me out. I mean, there should’ve been red flags popping up all over the place, the police should have been notified, something. But I only seemed to be intrigued by the way Reed never followed the normal rules for human behavior—including his complete disregard for spatial boundaries and respect.
Don’t ever check in with your location on Facebook again, he’d said, the bossy bastard.
And maybe even worse than the ridiculous things he did say, were the things he didn’t. One second I’d been ensconced in one of the sexiest moments of my life, and the next I’d been standing alone with nothing but an ache in my tailbone.
Like a film reel, I had been replaying his words, our conversation, the dancing, the way he looked, since the second his hands left my skin. Hell, I hadn’t even remembered to stop at Frank’s Weiner Cart before I left the Vertigo Lounge. I was too damn fixated on Reed and the way it felt to have his hands on me, softly caressing my skin as we danced. The way his long, sexy fingers made subtle circles across my arms, my shoulders, my belly, even the tops of my exposed thighs.
Sexy fingers. I didn’t even know fingers could be considered more than just appendages until Reed. But with him, they were sexy fucking fingers.
Last night, my body had craved him in all senses of the word.
I typed crave into the search browser on Merriam-Webster and watched the definition fill the screen.
Crave (verb) 1. To have an intense desire for.
2. To beg earnestly for.
Synonyms: ache, desire, hunger, yearn, thirst, want
Closing my eyes, I pictured Reed’s body over mine as he used every single one of those words.
What is wrong with me?
And what is wrong with God? I knew questioning the big guy in any form wasn’t exactly expediting my passport to heaven, but come on. Why would He pair those blue eyes with that sculpted face, and then heap kissable lips and a body I was certain looked even better bare on top of that? What good was that doing anyone? Bueller?
Last night, I couldn’t control myself. My hands had needed to know what he felt like underneath his white T-shirt. My fingers, completely in on the plan, had slipped under the material and felt the notches of abs, the thick muscles that popped and twitched under his skin as we’d danced.
God and Reed together, they’d gotten me hooked on the sensations and the man providing them, and then they’d ripped it away. One barely there kiss to my cheek and he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving me standing there, jaw slack, eyes hazy, and my body craving.