Heart In A Cage

09

"I don't approve of your behaviour." Andreas grips my wrist and drags me across the club. On the way, I almost trip, clumsily walking as I almost jog to keep up with his pace. He's mad—and walking too fast.

"And? I don't fucking like you. You've made me feel like shit." Whatever undistinguishable thing he's focused on further in the crowd must be significant, because he ignores me. We arrive at the same booth from before, and instead of nicely giving me way to the seats, he bends me over the table, my stomach and cheek meeting with the cool surface. He seizes the nape of my neck. "Far out. Why are you mad? I was just having fun."

I push my ass back to support the idea.

He brings his chest over my back and whispers, "Stop acting like this. Get yourself together."

"Excuse me, who in the fuck do you―" I openly let out a long moan as he cups my breast and shoves into me. The fingers wound around my neck loosen but remain firm enough that I can't simply squirm away. Even if I were given the opportunity, I wouldn't take it.

He's pressed against me like he had been at the desk of his store, and just like then, my panties are getting damp, and that wetness only gathers when I feel the same rigidness from before against my backside.

"You're hot and cold, boyfriend. Don't stop."

He thrusts, his pants and my dress the only barriers keeping me away from his stiff cock. I circle my ass around his groin, the table below me bobbing with the loud beating of the speakers. I'm glad I didn't have any alcohol, otherwise, I wouldn't be experiencing this despicably pleasant happening.

"Andreas," I start lazily, "yesterday you were all cute and cocky and now you're a dick. You can't just casually finger fuck me and tell me that we're nothing but a joke."

"This is a joke," he snaps, "I touch you for the fun of it." The grip on my hair strains my scalp and his hand tightens around my waist. "This is all for fun. Nothing else. Never will be for anything else."

"You know what. You just keep proving that you're a dick. It's only been a few days, but I already fucking―"

"You fucking what? Tell me the truth, baby. Tell me nothing but the truth. Show me how loyal and honest you can be."

My stomach tenses against the table as he takes my waist with both hands and pulls me closer to him. I feel his erection―the only thing that's not bullshit in this relationship of ours. The more he touches me and the more unrestrained his movements on me are, the source of my loathsome only grows, grows into a resentment that makes my body crave him even more.

"I fucking hate you," I spit. "And you're a dick."

He yanks me up, spins me around, and drops me onto the table.

Within no time are my shoulders teeming with his rush of hunger, his lips sucking at the skin and hands clasping my waist. I throw my head up, groaning, fingers flowing through the silky brown of his hair, his lips trailing from my jaw to cheeks. He indecisively observes me for a few seconds―observes my mouth. Considering whether it's worth joining his with mine. But even with his dreamy expression, I'm startled when he finalizes his decision.

"What drives me, I'm yet to know."

My heart thunders as he reaches in for my lips, but that chance to fulfill desire is instantly crushed. Something splashes over us, and the two of us gasp, splitting from each other.

Rushing off the table, I notice that most of the liquid is on me. Andreas' shoulder is damp. I'm drenched.

"Oops, my hand must've slipped." Dalia appears by the table, an empty glass in her hand. She shamelessly taps a neon heel on the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Dalia?" Andreas growls. "Get us some tissues."

Instead of letting Andreas chide her with outrage, I pull his arm until he's forced to face me. My arms wrap around his neck, and with the minimal distance now between us, I tilt my head to the side and let his breaths fall on my wet skin. He smirks at the liquid dripping down my upper body. It's there for consumption. That carnal look in his eyes hints that he's caught on to my suggestion.

Just for confirmation, I whisper, "Taste me."

Almost instantly, his tongue is sliding across my collarbone. The sticky wetness on my skin is replaced with his thick, clear saliva. My moans are unhindered, traveling blatantly through the humid air around us, his own crackling beneath my skin as I hold his neck harder and he squeezes my hips. The heat of his spirited touch enlivens me, spreading as he reaches my face and licks the surface of my cheek.

We pause, breathless and alive. Dalia's glass is no longer in her hand. Shards are scattered before her feet, and she's smoldering with resentment.

I seize Andreas' hand and move past the frozen bitch, throwing her a malicious glance on the way. The partying around us proceeds, people propelling their arms in the air and moving around each other frantically. I envy the fun they're having―the fun I just had. But I don't feel the need to participate. I should've had a drink.