0.18 - Saturday 1:30 p.m.
Maverick Bale (yes, still his POV)
Fingertips skim my thighs, lips brush my neck, my fingers lock in chocolate hair—
"Maverick Bale, wake up right now!"
The door to my room slams open, pouring white light into my room. I squint my eyes, ignoring the burn from the sudden contrast between pitch black and bright sunlight. My mom stands in the doorway with her arms crossed.
"Do you know what time it is, Maverick?" she asks in a low voice.
"No?"
"It's 1:30! Rhys will be here any minute now and you haven't even woken up, let alone having eaten breakfast or lunch or gotten dressed. Why didn't you put an alarm?" Her voice is full of disapproval, and it's almost too much to take right when I wake up. At the same time, she's right. Rhys will be here soon and I need to be sharp enough to keep myself in check.
"Okay, okay. I'm getting up. I'll be downstairs in five minutes."
"Make it two minutes. And hurry up." She leaves the room with a frown that reminds me too much of Lauren. Fuck, I don't know how I'm going to face her today.
I should shower, even though I don't have that much time. Not to mention, I was in the middle of a certain dream of a certain someone when my mom barged in. But Rhys could be here any moment. What if he walks in my room while I'm occupied? What if he hears me? These questions should turn me off, but if anything, my heart beats faster in my chest and my breath slides in and out of my lungs at an alarming rate.
Fuck it. So what if he hears? So what if he walks in?
I'm in the shower faster than I can blink, turning the water on sharply, jerking slightly when the water sprays on the sensitive skin of my stomach and upper thighs.
"Rhys! Good to see you. How is everyone?"
Even with the shower running over my head I can still hear my mom's enthusiastic greeting. I strain my ears for his reply, but he must be speaking too softly.
"He's upstairs getting ready. Why don't you go on up to his room and tell him to hurry up for me." If only my mother knew what a miracle that was, and what her son is doing upstairs in the shower. She would lose her shit.
The deep fire inside my abdomen flares each time the stairs creak, a warning that Rhys will be in my room any second, able to hear any slipped moan or stifled cry. And yet instead of slowing my pace, I go faster, harder, until my mind goes blank, numb, and when the door opens and Rhys calls my name, it sends me over the edge, and it takes all my strength to keep myself from collapsing against the wall or crying out loud.
I clean up quickly and turn off the water. My towel fell from its place over the plastic curtain holder and onto the mat. I lean over and pick it up, wrapping the suddenly noticeably thin fabric around my waist.
Time to face my undeniably massive crush.
I swing the door open.
"Mav, your mom said—" Rhys cuts off when he sees me. I must be quite a view, my skin glistening with a rosy tint, my hair wet and plastered to the sides of my forehead, and my towel barely hanging on my hips.
I never knew I could make Rhys fluster like this, and if I'm not careful, it may become my favorite hobby.
"—that I need to hurry up?" I finish for him. Rhys nods, averting his eyes away from my face...and on my chest, still wet since I haven't bothered to dry myself. Rhys flushes, his fingers shooting to the back of his neck to scratch awkwardly. The fuck this won't become my favorite hobby. I could watch his olive skin burn bright red on repeat and never get bored of it. And shit, if it isn't a turn on. A small part of me wants to go back into the shower and just jerk off to this image in my head, of Rhys's eyelids lowering guiltily, his cheeks and neck flushed a deep, dark red, and those teeth, worriedly catching onto his bottom lip.
"You should put some clothes on," Rhys finally manages to mutter.
"Yeah, I probably should. I don't think the people at the fair will appreciate my half naked body," I say, feeling a kick of triumph in my chest when Rhys's neck flares a brighter red, if possible, and the tips of his ears pink.
"No, I don't think they would," he murmurs, just barely pushing the words past his lips. I could stay here forever. But I know I have to get dressed. I walk past Rhys toward my dresser. I'm going to have to drop the towel. If I make it a big deal, it will be a big deal. A part of me wants to dramatize the moment, but I'll let Rhys catch a break this time.
I methodically pull boxers on and then pants, not spending a second to check if everything fits comfortably. I have no idea if Rhys is watching or not, but I can't think about that.
"Done," I say after I pull a sweatshirt over my head, turning to look at Rhys. He looks up from his phone. I guess that means he wasn't watching. It's hard not to feel disappointed.
"Don't forget your phone." Then we walk outside to his car. We're pretty early. The fair really only gets going at around 6 p.m.
"We can go to the river," Rhys says as he starts the car. I can barely hide my sharp intake of breath. He really wants to move on. Going back to the river is an apology, it's realizing his mistakes and owning up to them, and then trying to make up for it. Rhys has one hand on the wheel, to all the world casual and collected, but I know him better. He's as acutely aware of the situation as I am.
"Yeah that sounds great."
We both relax into our seats at the same time, and drive toward the river.
***
"It's nice out," Rhys murmurs. He squints at the river. He's not wrong. It's nice like it usually is here, blue skies and 70° F weather. But the trees aren't filled with green leaves or blooming flowers and fruits like other places in the springtime, and the river is barely inching along in the mud.
"Want a hit?" I ask, revealing my Juul. Rhys nods shyly, taking it from my hands. I swear our fingers brush, but it was too fast to be sure. He inhales, his pink lips wrapping around the edge of the Juul. It feels like ages since we've hung out together like this. I didn't realize how much I missed it, the familiarity of the situation, the scenery. It's like nothing has changed. But that's not even close to the truth—the proof is how I feel when I look at him. But maybe it has always been like that, and I'm only now noticing.
"Lauren still ignoring you?" Rhys asks..
"Yeah, she's really pissed." Can we just stay together like this, hidden from the world and from all the people who hate us?
"What did you do again?" he asks.
"Good question. I guess I was just being an ass," I say. He hands me my Juul back, and I take a hit. Rhys's eyes follow the Juul to my lips, his gaze lingering like the last rays of a setting sun.
"I know the feeling."
We stay like that, sitting next to each other and passing the Juul back and forth, soaking up the smell of tree bark and spring breezes. I let my shoulders relax, eyes close, and try to sense where Rhys is, testing if even my body's sensitive receptors can tell when he's nearby.
How many minutes have passed? I swear we've been here almost an hour. I shift, opening my eyes. Rhys is staring, his eyes dark and contemplative, right at me.
Another time, I would've glanced away, but not this time. This time I stare back, right into his sea green eyes. He's slightly startled, maybe because for a moment he was lost in thought, and only just now did he realize I was staring back. A dark red flush creeps up his neck.
"You like someone," Rhys says, the sharpness in his voice slicing through the dulled atmosphere. "Don't you?"
"Yes." The word flows surprisingly easy from my lips. Rhys stills, his eyes darkening.
"Who?"
I turn, closing my eyes. I want to smile, desperately, but if I do that I've given in. Instead I shake my head. "Can't say."
"Can't say or you won't say?"
I stay silent. With my vision gone, my hearing picks up Rhys's harsh breathing.
"Is it a boy?" Rhys asks. "Is that why you won't tell me?"
What is it about this place and confessions? Maybe there's some magic powers hidden here, or the gurgling river and rustling tree branches stir some deeper, more spiritual emotions out of us. And did Rhys just admit that I could like boys?
"It's not that," I say uneasily. If it was any other boy, I would've told Rhys in a heartbeat. But tell him that I have a crush on him? Kill me now—actually, Rhys would probably do that for me.
"Is it a girl then?" Rhys asks. I should say yes, but my mouth decides to tell the truth.
"No."
Silence.
I sit up again, opening my eyes and stretching, ignoring the painful, erratic thumping of my heart against my ribcage, the way it always does when I confess something to Rhys, when I care about his reaction. Rhys's eyes are wide and round, and I can read the different emotions flitting across his face. Disbelief. Hurt. Confusion. Much of the same as the last time we were here, except now there's no acidity creeping into the rims of his irises or the corners of his frown.
"Do you really want to know who it is?" I ask. Rhys nods, but it's so slight I'm not sure I didn't imagine it. I scoot closer to him, so that our legs are nearly flush. Am I about to do what I think I'm doing?
"It's not a girl," I say, lowering my shoulders just enough, making us eye to eye.
"So I was right," Rhys says breathlessly, his eyes so close to mine I can make out the flecks of gold and brown adorning the green, "it is a boy."
"He's more than just a boy," I reply firmly. We don't break eye contact as I lean in closer, waiting impatiently for his reaction. Rhys's eyes flicker—between one blink and the next, really only a fraction of a split moment—down to my lips, but it's enough to spark a surge of confidence through my chest and bring my face just an inch closer to his, forcing our breaths to mingle in the air between us.
Time stretches out, the beat of my heart like a ticking clock. Spit it out.
I slowly look down at his lips, making it as clear as possible. Rhys's breath hitches in his throat, and my heart soars.
"He's my best friend," I whisper, my gaze devouring his green eyes, the best place to discover how he truly feels in each moment. Rhys inhales sharply, but doesn't back away. He doesn't do anything I'm terrified he will. His eyes drift down to my lips again, but they don't shy away this time. It's my turn to be shell shocked.
Holy motherfucking shit, am I going to kiss Rhys fucking Wyer?
I tilt my head, angling my chin—
Ring, ring, ring!
We jump apart, breathing hard. I don't move for a few seconds until I realize it's my phone that made that sound and I could kill the person calling me right now.
"Hello," I say, not trying to hide my resentment.
"Yo, where you guys at? Everyone's here at Hunter's house," Jules says. There's some shouts and laughter in the background. I think I catch Sarah and Alex's bickering.
"We're at my house," I say, not wanting to give up this special, life changing moment with anyone else. Jules yells at someone, but his voice is distant, the phone probably dropped at his side. "Jules?"
I wait two seconds and then end the call with a roll of my eyes.
"Who was it?" Rhys asks. I don't avert my gaze, like I'm tempted to, since we basically...almost...something. Something almost happened, or started, but because of that there's also nothing left to hide. My secrets are on full display for Rhys Wyer. I made my move, now it's his turn.
"Jules. He says everyone is at Hunter's house." The last place I want to go to is Hunter's house where everyone I've been trying to avoid is hanging out in the same room. Jules may as well have been inviting me to hell.
"We should go," Rhys says. I nod, even though my mind protests, wanting to grab the front of his shirt like they do in movies and kiss him hard and rough, enough to draw blood. As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Rhys blushes.
"Are you okay to drive?"
"I'm okay. That stuff isn't that strong," Rhys says. We walk back towards the road, through the thin patch of trees. Rhys went ahead in front of me, so sue me if I appreciate the view.
For the entire car ride neither of us say a word.
***
"Will you fucking shut up?" Sarah says, but there's no true malice behind it. Alex rolls his eyes.
"Make me," he says, earning hoots of laughter from the other guys around them.
"Can you guys just make out already?" Tristan says dramatically, ignoring the weak protests from Sarah and Alex immediately after.
"Yeah, the sexual tension is killing everyone," Hunter drawls from the corner of the bigger couch. I glance to Rhys, whose gaze flickers over to me. Our eyes meet, his definitely faltering down to my lips, before he looks back to the couple in question.
I almost roll my eyes. They think that's sexual tension? I might pass out from the crackling air between Rhys and me.
We may have the strongest sexual tension in the room, but we're not the only people with tension. Jules and Rhys are at opposite ends of the living room, since Beverly and Jules started hooking up—and not subtly. As a result, Rhys and Beverly barely can stand to look at each other. I'm not on friendly terms with either Beverly or Jules. Lauren completely ignores me, even when I was just saying hi. The whole friend group would collapse if we didn't have Sarah and Alex's constant, familiar bickering, Tristan's stupid jokes, and then some comment from another person who felt the urge to chime in.
"It's six thirty, let's go to the fair," Jules says. I see Rhys scowl out of the corner of my eye. A few of us get up, and the rest follow. "Who's driving?"
"Me!" Lauren says energetically.
"I do," Hunter says, raising an arm.
"Me," Rhys mutters.
"Okay let's go," Jules says, walking towards the door. Then miraculously, the stars align. Lola, Sarah, and Alex go with Lauren. Beverly, Jules, and Tristan go with Hunter. That leaves me and Rhys. Alone. It's actually not that surprising, considering people have to pick sides, and Rhys and I aren't the most popular in the group at the moment.
But still. There's what happened earlier by the river to consider.
Rhys climbs in the driver's seat. What if we just make out and not go to the fair? Stop it. That's not going to happen. The incident at the river was just that. An incident. Accident. A mistake. Maybe Rhys hadn't meant to lean forward like that. Maybe he just wanted to experiment.
"You coming, Mav?"
Right. I open the passenger door, sliding into the seat.
"You okay?" Rhys asks. It's a rare question, usually only asked by my mom. When I glance over to him, he's already looking at something on his phone. The disinterest stings more than I would like. I don't answer right away so he looks up. I shrug him off.
"Yeah, let's just go," I say in the lightest tone possible. Rhys must not catch anything amiss, because he starts the car and pulls out onto the road.
We're back to the stifling silence I hate so much.
"How are you getting home?" Rhys asks as we merge on the freeway. I had thought Rhys would take me home, but the way the question is posed, along with his flippant attitude, makes me think that he doesn't want to.
"I-I could take an Uber," I say lamely, cursing myself for tripping over my words and sounding like a kicked puppy. Usually I am the more confident one out of the two of us. So why am I suddenly unable to ask him to drive me home? How about that raging boner you had for him this morning?
"Oh, I mean—I didn't mean to sound like I couldn't take you," Rhys rambles, "that is, I can take you. Drive you. I can drive you home, or you can come to my house if it gets too late. But only if you can. And want." Rhys takes a shaky, breath bordering on an embarrassed laugh before continuing. "If you want to come over, I can drive you."
I tamper down a goofy smile that I know is threatening to split across my face. There's the flustered Rhys I can't get enough of.
"I do want to. Thank you," I say, staring straight ahead, not daring to look to see if Rhys is hiding a smile too. Where before the silence suffocated us, now the silence had an electric charge, an energy to it that makes it extremely hard not to grin.
The sky darkens to a velvet black as we find a parking spot a few blocks away from the fair. Even this far away, we can see the neon lights ringing the top of the ferris wheel and hear the delighted screams of children being catapulted in the air.
A breeze ruffles my hair, but there's a cold bite after that stings my cheeks and the tips of my fingers. Rhys shivers next to me. I throw him a sidelong glance.
"Cold?" I ask. Rhys nods, rubbing at the flimsy sleeves of his sweater.
"I should've worn warmer clothes. Thought it wouldn't be this cold." Rhys's nose has turned adorably red and a strand of his chocolate hair falls in front of his eyes. Without thinking I push the stray lock back into place. Rhys freezes in place with an odd look of bewilderment crossing his face.
"There. That's better," I mutter. It's really not that big of a deal. I've fixed him up occasionally before, sometimes joking, sometimes as an afterthought. It hadn't meant anything before, though. Not like it does now.
"T-thanks," Rhys stammers, a scarlet blush tainting his cheeks. We resume our walk, my heart stuttering and my nerves tingling each time the back of our hands accidentally brush or my elbow or shoulder knocks gently against his. The desire to slip my hand in his nearly overpowers every thought in my mind.
All too soon we reach the gates of the fair, and our moments alone shrink to an end. I want to say something clever, to keep Rhys on his toes, maybe get him all flustered again right before we meet the rest of the group. I turn to him.
"Rhys, I—"
"There they are!" Jules. I've never hated anyone more in my life.
"You guys took forever. Everyone's already here," Lola says, standing next to Jules.
"Where did you guys go? Hopefully you stopped somewhere to buy us some booze," Hunter says sarcastically. I roll my eyes. Rhys eyes Jules stonily.
"Fuck off. We got caught behind the slowest driver in the world," I lie breezily. Rhys's eyes snap to mine. Hopefully no one noticed.
"Chill, dude. We're just joking," Jules says.
I hear Hunter mutter, "Not really," under his breath.
As we stride over to the rest of the group, my stomach tightens, and I can't help the icy dread that glaciates in my gut, the feeling that something terrible is going to happen like sharp icicles against my ribcage. Alex and Sarah are in line to buy tickets. Off to the side waiting, a stack of tickets already clutched in their hands, are Beverly the Bitch, Lauren, and Tristan. Ah, Tristan. The only person in the group who has a clean slate with everyone.
"Hey guys," I say as we approach them. My gaze falls on Lauren, and her eyes harden like steel. Well, shit. Guess nothing's changed there.
"Hey Mav," Beverly says in an unusually sugary tone, her eyes raking over me in a more than intimidating way. "How was the drive?"
My first thought is she knows. But how could she? If anything, Rhys and I seem to the rest of them as finally bridging the gap after a fight. And so what if we act...close? We're best friends, it's practically in the job description.
"Fucking amazing since you weren't there," I say with a joking smile, but from the flash of anger in Beverly's eyes I know she hears the truth in my words. Jules and Tristan laugh awkwardly, and Hunter makes a comment that sounds like 'oh shit'. After a moment, a beautifully cruel smile carves Beverly's face as she turns to face Rhys. My stomach drops to the floor.
"You know, Rhys. I wasn't going to tell you, but since honesty is the best policy apparently," her eyes cut to me, then back to Rhys, "I think you should know that I hooked up with Jules while we were still dating."
"Beverly," Jules says, shocked. Beverly glances at him innocently.
"What? I thought Rhys should be warned that just because his friends are nice to his face doesn't mean they don't have a problem backstabbing him. I care about you Rhys, and I don't want to see you get hurt again." Her eyes land on me with a vicious glare.
"You slut," Rhys snarls. Beverly's head whiplashes towards Rhys.
"Excuse me? How dare you—" Beverly says, her voice suddenly not so bold and cutting.
"I always knew you were easy. But with my friend? That's pretty low, even for you," Rhys says. His voice sounds strange, dark and mocking. Beverly must've liked Rhys more than she let on, because each of his words hit her like a blow to the chest.
"And Jules," Rhys says with a shake of his head, "you really know how to pick 'em. But don't worry. She's all yours now." Jules watches him with a stunned expression.
"Manwhore!" Beverly shouts, grabbing the attention of several people walking past, along with Alex and Sarah, who rejoin the group. "You ruin everything!"
"Bitch," Rhys says savagely, narrowing his eyes at her.
"Asshole!" Beverly cries back, and tears run down her face, black streaks that make her seem more pathetic than ever. "You couldn't even—you treated me like shit—that night—"
"Shut up, Beverly," I say sharply, before grabbing Rhys by the arm and dragging him after me, somehow knowing that Rhys didn't want everyone to hear what Beverly was about to say. Beverly's loud cries and sobs drown in the ricocheting sounds of the fair and of the thousands of people crowded around us.
When we reach a safe distance away and I make sure no one is following us, I drop Rhys's arm. He rubs the place where my hand was.
"Sorry." I'm not really, though. We had to leave before things escalated and security escorted us off the grounds. Rhys shakes his head bitterly.
"Jules," Rhys says, "I can't believe he did something like that."
"I mean, is it that hard to believe? Jules means well, but he's naturally a fuckboy," I say, hoping to calm him down. If anything, I fuel the anger more.
"That's no excuse," Rhys says harshly. He glances down at the ground for a moment, then back up, a cold, calculating gaze honing in on me. "You knew, didn't you? All of you. Except me." He runs a hand violently through his hair.
"It wasn't my place to tell you," I say.
"Bullshit. You don't owe them anything," Rhys says. "But you owe me the truth."
I go very quiet at that. Rhys stares, a little stunned, a little disconcerted, and a little something else. The lights of a nearby ride dance on his olive skin, and yet again I'm reminded of how very attractive Rhys is.
"I'm sorry," I say, and this time I mean it. Rhys's shoulders sag. I know Jules's betrayal hurts more than Beverly's. "Let's go on a ride."
"But the others—"
"Fuck them."
I take him to the Silver Streak, the only ride that has a reasonable line. The ride isn't that thrilling, with about fifteen small carts connected in a circle that go forwards and backwards, around and around, at an almost uncomfortably fast speed, over large bumps and dips. But none of those characteristics give the ride its true appeal, which comes from being unwillingly smashed up against the person next to you in the cart, regardless of how hard you try to keep space; the momentum makes it impossible.
The perfect excuse to get close and personal with your crush. Or in this case, Rhys. Fuck, doesn't this make it obvious. I hadn't meant to choose this ride for that reason. Really, this should've been the last ride I chose, because it will only make it harder for me to get over this crush. But do you even want to get over it? asks that voice in my head, and unsurprisingly, it's Beverly's sneering voice.
If Rhys thought I was making a move on him, he definitely didn't hint at it. In fact, he said nothing the entire wait. Only when we climbed in our cart did he open his mouth.
"I'm not mad at you, you know," Rhys says, glancing reluctantly at me, his eyes wandering from my eyes to my nose and just a little further down before jumping away.
"I know," I say softly.
The engine beneath the ride starts up, and the carts jerk forward, gradually picking up speed. Our bodies fly up and hit the metal bar locked against our waist, keeping us from soaring out of the ride. We're jostled around, but like predicted, at the height of speed, the world a blur of neon lights and darkness around us, Rhys is pressed against me, not even an inch of space between us. We hit a bump in the ride and we pitch forward. Rhys's hand grabs my leg in order to steady himself, and my face heats up. I'm waiting for him to remove his hand but he doesn't, and I can't hear anything over the roaring in my ears, the screech of metal on metal.
If I just turn, if I just tilt my head his lips would be right there, slightly parted, pink, and ever so inviting. Stop. No. A thousand people would see. Our friends could see. Then everything would go to shit.
Eventually the ride slows to a stop. Rhys snaps his hand away.
"Do you just want to go home?" Rhys asks. I look at him and he blushes. "I mean, it'll be so awkward if we go back to the group. Probably not a good idea for me. I called a girl a slut! I've basically exiled myself—"
"Sure." I try not to smile. I might scare him away. Rhys's eyebrows raise in surprise. He smiles tentatively.
"Great. Okay, cool."
We climb off the ride and walk straight out of the fairgrounds towards his car, trailing the smell of churros and popcorn and pizza. Rhys's eyes are restless, never settling on one thing, never settling on any feature of mine before skittering away. He's nervous. Why is he nervous?
"Don't worry about the others. They know you both were just emotional," I say. Rhys doesn't take his eyes off the road, but I see him shake his head.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Rhys says quietly.
The rest of the drive is silent. I keep glancing over, watching his eyes focus on the traffic, the sooty eyelashes framing them, the soft breath escaping his lips. His right hand comes to rest on the stick shift, the left taking over the wheel. What would happen if I reach over and hold it?
The next few minutes happen in a blur; pulling up to his house, walking inside a dark house, no one home, up the stairs to his room. His room.
We're in his room. All I can see is his skin, olive and soft and touchable.
Rhys catches me staring. Our eyes meet. My mouth goes dry.
"Mav, I—" Rhys strangles for words. That's when I see it. A lightning storm. Thunder and sleet. A glint of electricity in a flood of green.
I don't hesitate. I don't second-guess. Without warning, I pull my sweatshirt and shirt over my head in one swift motion. Rhys makes a sound in the back of his throat, his eyes widening in alarm.
"What—"
"Shh." This isn't the time for questioning. I cover the few steps that stretch out between us. Rhys straightens up. I get right up in his space, but Rhys doesn't back away. He stares, deep into my eyes, the only gaze that penetrates me to my very core.
"I don't—" His voice cuts off when my hand presses flat against his chest. His heart beat thrums against my skin, and he sighs raggedly.
"I like you, Rhys," I whisper, so low it's more of a hum. Rhys nearly looks exasperated, as if my hand has him pinned hopelessly.
"Mav," Rhys says, almost a prayer. I push him backward, propelling him with the hand on his chest. He staggers back and back until he slams against the wall, rattling the picture frames that clutter his bookshelf.
"I've wanted this so bad," I say, no longer confident but full to the brim with desire and deep with hunger. Rhys shivers beneath my palm, a delicious tremor that shoots straight down to my toes. His eyes battle, confusion and want, uncertainty and full blown lust.
"I'm not—" he struggles one more time.
That's it. My lips cut him off. For a moment, my mouth lingers on his. Rhys has gone deathly still. Have I ruined it? Have I—
Then Rhys hooks an arm around my neck and yanks me towards him, and our mouths collide. Oh fuck. This is way better than any fantasy I could've conjured at night. Rhys's lips are soft, contrasting his strong jaw that dips and tilts along with his mouth, along with each burning stroke of his tongue.
My hands move and tighten on his waist, the firm edges of his hips, and I hold back the fierce urge to ravage his skin with my nails, to not leave a centimeter of olive skin untouched by my fingertips.
We break apart breathing harshly. Rhys's cheeks are flushed scarlet.
"You're driving me insane," I say, and then I kiss him again. Harder. Deeper. My body weight pushes him into the wall and every slight grind of my hips against his elicits the sweetest moan from Rhys's lips, a sound so passionate, so freely slipped from his mouth. Oh fuck.
"Rhys," I say, like a swear, a curse, against a stretch of tender olive skin where the tendons in his neck strengthen when he arches his head to the side. My mouth skims against the soft, sensitive area where his neck dips before his collarbone, and I let my tongue trail along, tasting salt and heat. Rhys groans, a hand tangling in my hair, fisting the strands and pulling my face up painfully to his lips, but I don't care, could never care, not when his mouth meets mine open and warm and eager, his tongue curling and skimming the inside.
This is desire. Want. Nothing can compare to this moment, the tension and anticipation tightening in my stomach, the hypersensitivity of every nerve in my body fraying as the seconds tick by, as Rhys's fingertips travel across my body. Rhys's hands splay against my bare chest, and I choke back a groan when his cold fingers skim down to the hotter skin on my abdomen.
"Rhys," I say, his name falling from my lips, again and again. My brain short circuits, so that Rhys's lips against mine, his sweet, exquisite tongue exploring the hidden depths of my mouth, and those deft fingers sliding between the ridges of my spine, are the only things on my mind.