Beneath the Boardwalk (Alex Turner) COMPLETE

34 {dirtiest fantasies}

Alex's hand paused, holding his keys in the doorway. His shoulders were stiff, until he finally pushed the door open. He went to the kitchen silently, and I wondered if I said something wrong. My heart was pulsating beneath my ribs. 

He was quiet as he poured himself a drink and took off his suit jacket. The white button down brought up memories of him tearing off those buttons above me, and I stood in the doorway, feeling hot. I snapped out of it and closed the door, sitting on the couch.

Alex brought me out of my thoughts from the kitchen. "Anything to drink?" 

The hem of my skirt rode up and I pulled it back down. "I'm... good."

Afterwards, he sat down in front of me like he did when I came to his apartment the first time. He looked just about the same. Unsettling, attractive--and he knew it. His gaze was that same barbed wire, hanging off the edge-of-a-cliff sharp. My stomach dropped as if I was falling off it. He wasn't addressing what I admitted to him. 

So I spoke instead. "I said I wanted you."

"I heard."

"Then why are we sitting here?"

A smile played on his lips for a moment, and then it slowly faded until his tongue moved behind his teeth. He looked down at me through lowered lids. "Didn't realize it was such a rush."

I swallowed hard, a blush crawling up my cheeks. 

"Plus, I have a hard time believing you actually want me. You've been a little on edge ever since we met. I don't know if I believe you."

I crossed my legs, inhaling sharply. Alex watched me as I did so, his gaze lingering on my legs for a second long before meeting my eyes again. I cleared my throat, doing the same--checking him out. "Well, believe it."

"How do I know?" Alex took a sip of his drink, relaxing into the couch. "How do you know? Do you think of me often, is that how you know you want me?"

This wasn't something you talked about. My face was surely red. 

"You think of me late at night?"

I stilled.

"When you're all hot and bothered, am I in your head?" Alex lifted his chin, his lips parted. There was a sly gleam in his dark eyes, and it intensified when he noticed my increased breathing. He liked watching me writhe in my seat. "You fantasize about me, don't you?"

"Oh, please," I mumbled, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. 

"You want me because you've imagined it before," Alex accused, tilting his head.

"Nope."

"Unconvincing, darling." 

It was hot under my seat. I gripped the edges of my skirt. 

Alex got up from the couch slowly and walked forward until he was right in front of me. He put his hands on the couch by my head and leaned in slightly. His gaze on me was concentrate; it was consuming. If sitting in those auditorium seats in front of him made you feel dirty, he was focusing all of that into the stare, making you feel down-right filthy. I couldn't breathe. 

"But I bet you haven't pictured it as detailed as I have," he murmured.

Heat rolled off of him and I wanted it on me. I tried to steady my breath. 

"I'd start with my hands on your legs." Alex gripped the couch tighter behind me, but his voice was slow, as if it was straining just as much as the material of the cushions. "My fingers would play with the edge of your skirt, and I'd slowly pull it off until I could put my lips on your thighs. Your heart would be running miles, pumping hard. You'd beg me to come closer."

I ground my teeth together, my eyes fluttering shut. I was imagining it as he spoke. I uncrossed my legs. 

"You'd beg and beg, because you know you've been thinking about it for as long as I have," he said under his breath. "You'll beg because I want you to, because you can't wait any longer, because it's what you've needed since the very first time you laid your eyes on me. You won't deny it any longer. You'll be sweating, pleading, persistently begging me for it."

Alex leaned in, one knee spreading my legs apart, dipping into the couch. The cushion groaned beneath me. "And you'd squirm and wait for me to touch you," he said, lowering his voice, "just as you're doing right now."

I swore. 

He laughed darkly, his knee dipping further between my thighs. "You're just as much a tease as I, if not more. You knew what I wanted every single time you walked out of that auditorium. You made me wait months--so you can wait... just a little bit little longer."

I melted like ice cream under the hot, beating sun. "You're impossible."

"Undoubtedly so."

"Maybe," I started, chest heaving, "maybe I have thought about you. So what? You've clearly thought about me. Am I in your head at night?"

Alex readjusted his fingers on the couch, clearly more comfortable with the subject than I was. "You're always in my head. When you were bailing me out and trying to prove your point, quite deliberately with your tongue, I'd already pictured that similar situation a million times before. Except, you know, it had less... bite."

Great. Now I was picturing that same situation in clear detail. The way he phrased things was able to push images into your head. I swallowed. 

"And I'd imagined you'd leave red lipstick stains on my skin," he enunciated, dipping his knee until it finally was in between my legs, under my skirt. It was hard not to increase the pressure and move against him. "Red, all over. The colour of my favourite pen," he said under his breath. 

I bit the inside of my cheek hard and reached for the collar of the white button down.

Alex was breathing just as hard and fast as me. "Your lips play games, Quinn, and if they tell me you want me," he whispered, making a noise in the back of his throat, "you can have me."