Blues

18. When The Stars Go Blue

"Where do you go when you're lonely 
Where do you go when you're blue?"
When the stars go blue by Ryan Adams.

Chapter Eighteen:

I stand like a three-dimensional statue in my place, my chest heaving in bustling breaths, and my eyes hurting from the lack of blinking. He's got me beguiled and debilitated, but I still entreat myself to believe that everything is under control. He never averts his gaze, and I obviate any urge to avoid his intense eyes, consenting our lustful eye contact to last. I'm painfully aware of everything about him and his body, the hands he has wrapped around my hip bones feeling like electrical cords, and the hardness constraining against my stomach making my insides primed to yearn and solicit.

His head encroaches down toward the side of my face, his hot breath enkindling my ear, and causing my body to detonate in goosebumps. His velvety lips skim my ears, like a worm, coaxing me to sin with him. “One last call, Candy, because if I start, I won't be able to stop.” He cautions, his voice soft and benign.

He talks like it's the easiest thing in the world, while I'm in the middle of a hassle between my brain and my body. My body craves him. It hankers for his touch, and it takes every ounce of my might not to gyrate against him, but I still daren’t let myself dawdle. I don't want what happened the last time to befall me again, which urges my hands to flatten against his chest.

“No, step back.” With that, I push, and he abruptly moves back, as if he was smited by a harsh electric shock.

He stares at me with a dumbfounded countenance, a frown creasing the space between his eyebrows. “No?” He asks, the flabbergasted expression never abandoning his beautiful face.

I cross my arms, cocking my head to the side. “Never been rejected, huh?”

His expression doesn't change for a moment, before it transforms into an amused one, his mouth deforming into a devilish smirk. He reaches with his hand to grab the back of his neck, the smirk amping up even more. His eyes latch onto mine, inspecting and unraveling. “Careful, Candy. I’m a guy who loves a challenge. ” He says, his eyes falling onto my chest, causing me to fleetly stride toward where my shirt is disposed, and retrieve it, before bundling my arms into it, buttoning it as fast as my faltering nerves allow me.

“I want to go home.” I declare, crossing my arms once more.

He gives me his back, parading toward a couch that faces the door, before slumping down onto it. “And?” He asks nonchalantly.

A lower takes over my face. “And you're supposed to drive me home!” I clarify, shrugging one shoulder.

An innocent frown cloaks his visage, and he angles his head to the side. “I don't drive a girl home unless I get something in return.” He brassily asserts, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.

“What do you mea–” I muse, before realisation sinks in. I close my eyes briefly in exasperation, my face contorting in disgust at his audacity. “You brought me here. You should be the one who drives me home.” I confute through gnashed teeth.

He shrugs, insouciant, as he peers down at the screen of his iPhone. “You came here willingly.” He casually mutters, before he look up, a snarky expression shrouding his countenance. “Besides, you're an independent woman, aren't you? You shouldn't be expecting me to do anything for you.” He derides, his eyebrows hefted up, and his teasing makes impact with the right spot; my ego.

“Of course. No one should expect a chain-smoking asshole like you to be a gentleman.” I jeer, and for a moment, I fear that I may bust my teeth with the ceaseless grating.