He tells everyone we’re tired and drags me into the house.
Then I think his hormones kick into overdrive.
He kisses me, like, fast, hard, long, intensely deep kisses. He pushes me up against the counter in the kitchen, holding my hips tightly in his hands. He kisses hard down my neck and then strips off my shirt and tosses it on the floor.
Then he walks me backward through the house while still kissing me, quickly working his way back to the bedroom. He pushes me against a wall in the hallway, where he pulls his own shirt off, then unties my bikini top, his warm, naked chest pressing against me as he shoves his tongue deeply into my mouth. I suck on it recklessly.
We finally get to the bedroom, where he quickly shuts and locks the door, then pushes me up against it.
He’s kissing me and, like, ravishing me. I feel like I’m living a hot romance novel. And this is the kind of thing I have always pictured.
Always dreamed of.
A boy who wants me so bad he can barely stand it.
A boy who pushes me hard against the door and kisses me like he means it. A boy who takes my wrists and holds them above my head, pinning me to the door as he sucks his way down my chest. A boy who kisses me so deeply it makes my head spin. A boy whose one free hand feels like ten because it is everywhere on my body.
Instead he whispers, “Just because sex is good with someone, doesn't mean you’re destined to be with them. Imagine what it will be like with the guy you’re really supposed to be with. Your true love.”
When he speaks, his lips graze my neck a few times.
“You’re touching my neck. With your lips,” I say raggedly. I can barely breathe when he’s this close to me.
“I’m talking. Not kissing. It doesn’t count.”
And I don't know where this comes from—not from rational thought, obviously—but I make a little breathless moan and say, “Talk some more.”
I feel his mouth form a smile on my neck.
“Remember what I told you? In French. Your lips are my bliss?”
Then he speaks it in French. His lips grazing my neck with each syllable.
I forget who I am.
I forget where I am.
I have but one solitary thought.
Those lips must be on me.