𝐩 𝐫 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐮 𝐞
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒊 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘
"You're insufferable," She mumbles out to me in the dark of the backseat of the cab that we share. I smile to myself, shifting forward so that I have more leg room in this tiny damn car. "Yeah well," I start off, fully aware of my slurring words, I blame the tequila, "I wasn't about to leave you at that party, alone—"
"I wasn't alone, Luke!" She turns in her seat, a bit too fast by the looks of it. She presses three of her slender ring clad fingers to her temple as she glares at me. "You know that, you knew I was there with him and you just didn't like it." Every word she says drips with annoyance. I shrug one of my shoulders in response to her.
"You didn't need to come with me, s'not like I forced ya to or anything." I looked out of my window, but in the blur of the scenery we were passing, all I could see was her reflection staring back at me. "Force me? You practically hauled me out of the house." I could sense the driver's apprehension as our conversation went on, and I didn't blame him for his uneasiness.
To anyone else; it must have looked like I was a drunk jealous, possessive boyfriend, dragging her out of that frat house and putting her into a waiting car. It sounded bad, fuck—it looked bad. I just couldn't handle it anymore. Watching her with him, with anyone. Looking like she did. Fuck.
"Viv, it's not like that and you know it." I turned to face the front again, guiltily looking at my hands in my lap. "So then what is it like, Luke?" She challenged, edging forward in her seat, closer to me. I could smell her. Her apple scented shampoo, the sickly sweet perfume she uses, and her breath hot and smelling faintly of vodka. "Please, tell me what it is you think is going on between us, because I would love to know what exactly is going on up here." She drunkenly taps the side of my head, sighing heavily after speaking.
I don't look up at her and I don't answer her either, because I honestly don't have an answer.
I don't know why I want to keep her protected even if she's not in any danger, why I want her around me all of the time—even if all she does is give me snarky remarks or ignore me, I don't know why every time I picture her with him, my body heats up and I start shaking.
She lets out a humourless laugh, sitting back in her seat. "Great, more silence. Not sure what else I was expecting." She sounds like she's going to stop talking, and I don't want that. I want her to keep talking to me; I want her to shout and insult me and get angrier than what she already is. Because at least it's me she's talking to, it's me she's shouting at and insulting and getting angry with.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her shake her head, her dark hair falling out of the clip it's up in, coming down and framing her round face. I swallow a hard lump in my throat, eyes moving down her body on their own accord. She looked fucking amazing tonight, no—not amazing. Divine, gorgeous, exquisite, heavenly. There isn't a word to describe just how bloody incredible she looks in that tight black dress.
I see her eyes, drunkenly glazed over as she stares out the window, her lips painted a dark pink as they pout. She shifts slightly, and her neck stretches out on the head rest behind her. There's still a slight sheen of sweat and for some reason, glitter, coating her skin—evidence of being at the party, dancing and bumping into many people. I lean forward on my hands, resting my elbows on my knees as I don't hide that I'm looking at her now.
Her chest rises and falls as she breathes heavily, her dress dipping down between her breasts. I bite my lip, imagining what it would feel like to suck on her skin. To lick it, taste it, tarnish it with my teeth and tongue and not care about the marks that I leave behind.
Her legs part slightly, catching my attention immediately. I stare at her thighs, I can't see them perfectly in the dark, but I don't need to imagine this time to know how soft and tan her skin looks, I've seen her in short skirts and dresses, and every time that happens my heart plummets down to my feet. Her thighs will be the death of me, but I'd gladly die with my head buried between them.
"Stop staring at me," Her voice sends a chill down my spine. I don't make any effort to move my position, instead dragging my eyes back up her legs, over her stomach that noticeably pulls in as my eyes go over it, her chest heaving even more as I drift my gaze back up at her face. I pull my index finger in between my teeth as I respond to her.
"No." I simply say.
She glares at me. "You don't get to stare at me like that," She warns, her tone meaning to be threatening, I'm sure, but comes out more as a strangled breath. "Like what?" I challenge, taking my head off of my closed fists and angling my body so that one leg was bent up on the seat next to her, the other outstretched on my side of the car.
I'm not sure what comes over me. It might be the alcohol; it might be the burning need to be closer to her, weeks of pent up angst and sexual frustration finally at its breaking point. I definitely still blame the tequila.
I can feel her warm skin against my dark blue jeans. She radiated heat, and I needed more. More of her soft skin against mine, more of her intoxicating scent ensnaring my senses, more of her melodic voice telling me anything she damn wanted to. Whatever she says to me, I'd listen, whatever she'd ask of me, I'd do. No questions asked.
"Like that," She breathed out, sage green eyes shifting from my leg touching hers and my hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Like you—like you're about to..." She drifted off as I lightly ghosted my fingers down the side of her face, under her jaw and down her neck. "Like I'm about to...what?" My voice was just above a whisper as I lowered my face to her neck.
I hovered above her skin, and it was near torture being this close to her, millimeters away from my lips touching her glowing neck. My hand was still on her, thumb under her jaw around her throat with the rest of my fingers behind her neck. "Like you're about to kiss me."
I smile, allowing myself to have the feeling of her against my lips. Her scent overwhelmed me. Apple shampoo, a flowery feminine perfume, salty from sweating and the strong smell of vodka. Fuck, I want to bottle the way she smells. Something about it makes me feel absolute primal.
"Do you want that?" I ask, not moving my hand from around her neck, my lips at the base of her throat. "Do you want me to kiss you?" Goosebumps arise on her skin and she clutches my forearm that lays across her chest as the car turns a corner. I'm briefly reminded of the driver at the back of my mind, but then I remember that he drives for a cab company on a college campus. He's most likely used to this, he's probably seen all matters of debauchery in his backseat late at night, not that exhibitionism has ever stopped me before.
"Because I'll be honest with you Viv, I really want to fucking kiss you." She gasps softly at my confession. "But you already knew that, didn't you?" I move my face directly in front of hers, the hand not around her throat coming up behind her, holding onto the side of her headrest to give me leverage as I all but straddle her. Her eyes are hooded as she stares back at me.
"You know how much I want to run my fingers over your body, touch every bit of your skin. You know exactly how much I want my lips on yours, on your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, your clit—" She doesn't stop the moan that leaves her lips, but I think she meant to because her eyes widen briefly and she rolls her lips together, keeping her mouth shut. Fuck her moan was beautiful. I chuckle lowly, "I want everything you have to offer, baby." My thumb presses down on her throat, not enough to hurt her but enough to supply pressure as I bring my lips to her ear.
"I want to hear you moan for me as I eat my way to your heart from your pussy."