𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈

• 26 •

The sky was the color of a spanked ass—a cheek that met a palm multiple times.

The sun was setting and I did not know whether the wetness on my body was sweat or the remains of my shower. I groaned. Yeah, probably sweat. Great. Mentally cursing my life, I tore through the mountain of old shoes, wondering how on Earth I was able to collect dozens of pairs and why I still wear the same sneakers everyday.

Ralph, just as sweaty from racking my closet which has proven itself to be bigger than it looks, spoke, "I don't want to say that you're subconsciously picking Keenan, but I think you're subconsciously picking Keenan."

I glared at the tangle of shoelaces to be unknotted when I find time. "I don't want to say that I want you to shut up, but I think I want you to shut up and help me look for those goddamn shoes." I told my friend. Thing's woulda been a hell lot easier if I lived in a gigantic castle with self-organizing walk-in closets. Pity.

I can't even remember the exact pair I'm looking for. The design had faded from my memory. All I know is that they have square heels—a life hack, and are black faux leather; the not-so-shiny kind. My eyes widened in victory when I found one out of two. Shit, when have my feet demanded this much luxury?

Ralph spoke again, totally not helpful, "The man told you to come as you are. This," he said before gesturing down my body, "is not you."

I stood up and abandoned the mess on the floor. My hands found my hips. "I am me but with more makeup than usual and a gorgeous dress." I proclaimed. Gianna is Gianna. Gianna is me. I'm still me, just a tad bit dolled up.

The boy's brows etched together. He spoke, "I smell denial," and dramatically sniffed the air which smells like dust, "Denial and Lancôme parfum, Giababes."

My eyes widened, feeling the balls pop out of their sockets. "Oh, god, did I put on too much?" I pinched the front of my dress and stretched the fabric to my nose, smelling. I smell good. Too good? Too strong? Fuck, should I have chosen the Viktor and Rolf instead?

Instead of answering, Ralph rolled his eyes and crouched. His hand dove into the pile of footwear and produced half of my wanted pair. He gave me a bored look before uttering "Are these what you were looking for?"

How did I not see that? "Fuck yes," I snatched the black shoe, "Go, I gotta get ready. He'll be here in no time." I wouldn't have kicked Ralph out if Keenan wasn't minutes away from knocking on my door. It would be odd, no? Finding another man in your date's apartment when you come to pick her up.

The young man crossed his bare arms, sporting one of his usual muscle tees. "Good luck, and please remember that these walls aren't as thick as they look." he sent a pointed glare at the wall dividing our units, "I need sleep." he said.

"No promises," I started stomping to the door, pushing him out. Ralph is one lightweight man, "Earphones exist." I added. I've heard too many moaning women before from Ralph's place. The noise I'd make tonight would be payback.

Have I accepted the fact that I'll be fucking Dig Bick Keenan Travino at the end of the night? Yes. Yes, I have. Am I guilty? Yes. Yes, I am. Will I do it anyway? Yes. Yes, I will.

I sat on my small couch and put my shoes on. Once they were secure, I threw the other pairs back into their rightful hole. My feet took me to my bathroom to retouch what I can retouch. The sweat under my boobs were pissing me off. I stared at my face.

I don't seem much different. Aside from my usual look, I added some eyeliner and went for a different shade of matte lipstick. Ralph was talking bullshit. I'm me. I'm as Gia as usual. Shaking my head at the ridiculous thought of trying hard to look good, I leaned forward and added more mascara. It wasn't noticeable. I added another layer.

I stared at my eyes. They're blue, but a different shade of blue compared to always. They're lighter—as if anticipation had taken the form of glitter and blessed my eyes with a speckled layer. My brows furrowed at a realization that slapped me like a married bitch to her husband's mistress. I poked my cheek, checking if the woman before me truly is me because fuck, she looks good.

My brows arched up and with a coy smile, I nodded in approval. The last time I took extra measures to look presentable for a date was months ago. Even for dinner with Adil, I just threw on something from the weekly rotation. Adil. Fuck. Should I tell him? Was Ralph right? Am I subconsciously picking Keenan? Whatever Adil's intentions are, one thing's for sure: he doesn't deserve this. Deep down I guess I've evaluated my needs already just as Ralph said. Deep deep down, I knew who I wanted to pick.

There was a knock on the door and I felt like vomiting Keenan's chocolate churro. Oh, God. Maybe I do look different. Will Keenan make fun of it? He will, Gianna. You know that motherfucker; he eats others' shame for dinner if not microwaved pizza. For a moment, I debated on grabbing a tissue and wiping off the makeup. I debated on zooming to my cabinet, ripping my dress off, and switching to jeans and a nice shirt. I suppressed the urge to downgrade and with bile seeping through my arteries, I walked to the door, grabbing my purse and putting the strap on my shoulder along my way.

My hand shook as it hovered between me and the slab of wood that blocked Mr. Travino from my view. With the round piece of metal cold in my hand, I turned. There was a two-word line on repeat in my head. It was flashing in pink neon letters: Don't faint. Don't faint. Don't faint.

Lo and behold, Keenan stood in the hallway. There were three things that simultaneously popped into my head when my eyes met his six-foot-something stature. One, dark green really looks fucking good on this man. Two, didn't Mrs. Jaspar prohibit cigarettes in the hallway? Three, why the fuck is he looking at me like that?

In a futile attempt to de-stress, my lower lip was brought between my teeth to nibble on. Like a cliche little cunt in the similar situation, my hands fiddled with each other in front of me. My feet felt awkward. They were too close together. I spread them apart a bit. Nope, still awkward. I gaped quietly like a panicky deer. The sharpest of sighs escaped my lips. "Hi," I said pathetically. Pathetic.

The appreciative look vanished from Keenan's face, almost as if I just imagined it. That's it. I probably just imagined it. He brought the death stick to his lips, inhaled, and exhaled smoke. Then, he glared. "Are you just gonna stand there or are we going?" he mumbled.

"We're going," I stated as I lifted my chin to meet his gaze. After a beat, I had locked the door behind me.

Silently, we walked down the stairs. The heels were a bitch. Yes, they aren't six-inch stilettos, but when you rarely wear anything lifted, you're bound to force yourself to adjust. Hand on the wall, I took my time descending. Shameful. Keenan was already done with the first flight when he glanced at me, still on the first few steps from the top.

The man's eyebrows etched together. He scratched the back of his head as he sported a glare for my incompetence. Keenan butted the lit tip of the cigar and discarded it in a metal trashcan. Once I had sensed his vexation, I sent him a cringe-like smile that annoyed him further. Keenan muttered something under his breath which I was not able to pick up. Probably an insult to my stupidity. I forced myself to move faster, eliciting mild pain. Then, to my surprise, he ascended, grabbed my hand, and offered his arm for support.

Maybe I'm still hungover. Maybe I'm still drunk. Maybe I'm really just snoozing off in my bed and this is all a dream. Keenan and chivalry don't sound well together.

But proving that he's still him, my date kept his scowl until we reached the first floor. Pathetic enough, I didn't want to let go of Keenan's hand, but the man had other plans. As soon as we met the outside, he let go. I looked ahead and my jaw dropped to my in-pain feet.

If you think Keenan is hot, you should see his car.

Lemon looked like shit being in the same driveway. My girl looked like a baby compared to Keenan's McLaren. I don't know much about cars, but the name was on the logo itself. From afar, you'd mistake it as just a black tab. The lamps gave enough light for me to tell that the automobile's color is a reddish brown—not the first choice people go with, but fuck, did it look good. It looked sleek, sophisticated, rugged, and dangerous; mysterious too, all at the same time. The car looks like something out of a gentleman's blog. Now that I think of it, the supercar suits Keenan.

The shiny vehicle can bring a man to his knees. Women, too. I gaped in admiration. Fuck Keenan. I'd rather take his car out.

A warm hand was laid on my lower back, informing me that I'd been staring like an idiot for almost a minute. Slowly, we walked to the vehicle. Then, Anaconda-penis Keenan did another shocking thing.

"I'm only opening the door for you because I love this car very much and I don't want scratches." he told me, looking bored as he held the door open. A straight jacket was missing.

I cleared my throat, "Hmkay," I said, slipping in.

The door closed and I watched Keenan round the front. Did he really just lead me down the stairs and open a car door for me? Maybe this isn't Keenan. Fuck, maybe he's an alien and the real Keenan's on his way. Maybe I'm about to get abducted to be experimented on by extraterrestrials. The slam of his door cut my thoughts short.

The engine started. I spoke, "So, this car. What is it?" I mumbled.

The headlights turned on. I was turned on. When has a car ever turn me on? "What do you mean?" Keenan asked, adjusting the rearview mirror.

In the vehicle which probably costs more than my life, every move I made felt calculated. I was frozen in place, arms and hands kept near my sides. I shrugged rigidly, "Guys usually talk about their cars when I get in. It's like some weird ritual." I explained.

Keenan snorted at that. We started moving, "And does that entertain you?"

I frowned, "Not really."

"Then we won't go there." the man said. He eased out of the driveway and out of the street, wheels meeting the road. "How was the application?"

I watched him drive. It was an odd sight. I rarely see him out and now I'm seeing him drive. It was sexy as it was odd. "Do you know Mr. Liddell?" I asked Ki, "I'm convinced that he's you but in an old man's body."

His face was straight, eyes on the road. Still, I could tell he was amused, "Why? Charmed the fuck out of you?"

I hummed, considering. "No, he pissed me off."

"Ah. Well, maybe you annoy him back." said my date. We zoomed down the avenue, passing people going about with their own lives. It's amazing, really, to think that everyone's connected one way or another; that coincidences aren't just coincidences; that we're in a giant web of fate.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked. As I got ready earlier, I wondered where Keenan would bring me to. In other words, I wonder what else he eats aside from fast food and pussy.

"Someplace simple. Someplace quiet." he answered. His gaze was fierce as he eyes the traffic light, hurrying to cross right before the red light turned on, "I meant what I said when I said no romantic shit, by the way."

I shrugged to show my nonchalance. It looked fake, "I'm not expecting any." I told him.

For the first time since we've boarded the car, Keenan spared me a glance. His handsomeness had me wondering what his mother ate when he was in her womb. "It's just that I wouldn't want you getting used to something I won't be able to keep up with." the man explained.

I pushed down the wee bit of disappointment that was delivered along with his words. It's unnecessary. I should know what I'm getting myself into. Being honest is good. Keenan is being honest. "I understand." I voiced.

We were quiet after that and I came to notice that Keenan isn't the type to play music on his radio. The silence was eerie. The silence made me anxious. The silence made minutes feel like hours. When we pulled up in front of a restaurant not too classy but not too casual, I was yearning for a conversation. For bantering, at least, especially when it's Keenan that we're talking about.

The engine turned off. I didn't know whether to open the door myself or to wait for Keenan to do it for me again. Fuck, what the hell did I agree to? My wondering was cut short, thank fuck, when he muttered a 'Wait.'

I watched him round the car again. His upper half was clothed in a dark green button-up under a black jacket. The prior's been tucked into black pants. On his shoes are the usual: black, leather. Again, as if he really were sent to kill me, a few fingers held silver rings. Keenan Travino's effortless fashion sense is one to praise. The man knows what suits him.

My door was opened and I exited, shivering at the cold night's kiss. Side-by-side without touching, Keenan and I walked to the entrance of the establishment. We were seated on a table for two. It sounded romantic and I do not know what to feel.

"This is gonna be weird; seeing you eat something other than frozen fast food." I commented, breaking the air of silence. I opened the menu and suppressed a pout when I discovered that the prices are not stated.

"If you hadn't said yes, I'd be doing that right about now." said Keenan, flipping through the catalog.

I sent him a look, "Why not a decent meal?" I asked. He has the ingredients and the utility for it. Keenan can easily hire a cook.

"A cheeseburger is a decent meal, Gia." he argued.

My lips mimicked a straight line, "You know what I mean."

Keenan shrugged and I became aware of the waiter waiting for our orders. It pressured me into choosing the first meal that caught my interest. "Old habits die hard." my date said. That was a hint. Keenan Travino's history still intrigues me. Like a reader sniffing for conspiracies as she reads a psychological thriller.

Another hint came my way, "It's all I ate when I moved out of our cramped upstate apartment. Aren't you doing the same?" he spoke. A cramped upstate apartment, huh? I wondered how poor a poor Keenan was. 'Our' means he stayed with family.

"Touche," I told him. His order was typed into a tablet and wine was brought—wine of Keenan's choosing. I know none about that shit nor have I ever tried learning just to seem sophisticated. We were informed that the food shall be served in just a few minutes. I doubted that.

"What about you?" he asked, "Where the fuck did you come from?"

My stomach did a backflip when I took in the sight of Keenan across from me. He was relaxed, slumped back on his chair. His hands were folded on his stomach and he was gazing at me casually—no annoyance. My cheeks burned. Needless to say, Keenan Travino's the sweetest sight I had ever laid my eyes on.

"Your effort to get to know me is amusing." I stated, "Let's just say that I'm not from this state. I moved here to study, but I think you already knew that. It's in my background record for the mentorship, yeah?" I did not know where my challenging tone came from. I guess I'm hoping that spilling information about myself will cause Keenan to reveal his secrets too.

I took a sip of red wine. Overrated. "But anyway," I began again, "I used to live with my mom and stepdad. I'm an only child. I was in senior year when I decided that I wanted to write for the rest of my life. I was part of a production team for a school play and while I was reading the script, it occurred to me that I wanted to make stories too." he didn't ask me, but I told the story anyway. Dates are for chitchat.

His brows raised a fraction of a centimeter, "So you were a theatre kid?"

I shrugged, but it was a yes. Although I told my little story so that Keenan would tell his, I didn't really expect him to. He's Keenan, after all, but after a sip of his own drink and a lick of his lips, he spoke, "I was assigned community service instead of suspension in high school. They made me assist in the library which didn't need assistance at all. That's where it started for me."

I tried to imagine it: a problematic teenage Keenan, hot but in a boyish way. He never smiles and thinks that he's a hundred times more mature because of it. He probably collected detention slips. He probably collected girls. I teased, "Was Keenan Travino a bad boy?" in a voice that may or may not piss him off.

He looked neutral, "Bad, no. Troubled, yes. You?"

"What do you mean me?" I took another sip of wine. Although overhyped, the liquid is undeniably exquisite, "Was I bad?"

"Were you problematic?" he wondered, "Or were you chirpy and annoying? I'm guessing the latter."

"You're the only person who's overly annoyed with me, you know, aside from Liddell." I told him. Keenan grabbed some bread and ate, probably starving already. I know I am. "No, I was not problematic. I was normal." I added.

"I dislike childish people, but I've seen worse than you, so that's not the reason why I'm irked, if that's what you're thinking. You're not annoying, Gia, you're just..." his jaw ticked. Keenan looked like his next words would cause a slash to his ego, "The opposite of me. I like girls who are the opposite of me." I could not believe my goddamn ears. There it is: Keenan Travino likes me!

"You... like who?" I had to ask again.

The famous Travino glare appeared. "Don't fucking push it," he rolled his eyes as he mumbled this.

I pushed it, "You like me?" I asked. "Like... you like me?" the smile that broke through my face added to Keenan's growing annoyance. And discomfort, probably.

"I take it back," he shifted in his seat. The man's scowl could send gods running for the hills, "You're the most annoying person I had ever met."

My heart melted. "Aw," I pouted, "Thank you very much," I cooed so sincerely it was sarcastic.

My fun was cut short when the same waiter appeared. Our food was set on the table and I wondered how much it costs. The place doesn't look too fancy, but then again, it's hidden and old. I can imagine luxurious folks going in and out of the venue in another decade.

Not wanting to fall into awkward silence again, I spoke, "Tell me about that Reno deal with Dominic."

Keenan put steak into his mouth. Yes, steak—another typical date dinner thing. He wiped his mouth and drank more wine. "Alicia put me to it, but I'm doing it more as payment."

"For what?" I wondered.

His answer was simple as it was sweet. It was another glimpse at the good Keenan beneath the man before me, "For taking care of my sister." said Kiki, "Dominic is a man deeply in love. He's trying to win the brother, you see."

"Ah," I can't relate, but I can understand, "And it's working?"

"I honestly can't believe that Alicia found a man who can stand her." Keenan continued eating. "She's a handful." he added.

I didn't want to talk shit about a woman who I didn't know well. Plus, even if Alicia's obviously a brat, Keenan is still her brother. I settled with "I know."

Dinner was simple. We stayed within the topics of books, Contented, and Keenan's writing. At multiple times was I tempted to fish some personal information, but thought better than to disrupt Keenan's peace. He's outside, he's with company, and he's eating a decent meal. I didn't want to ruin it even though my curiosity was itchy.

When it was time to pay, my curiosity about the prices had my eyes glued to the black leather book. I quietly wondered how on Earth the food in our stomachs reach the price of three hundred dollars. I better shit gold.

Feeling more comfortable than we were when we first arrived, there was subtle contact as we walked back to the car: Keenan's hand on my elbow. There are sexier options, surely; my waist, my back, my hand, my hip, or my ass, but Keenan chose an elbow. And you know what? It had the same knee-melting effect. If I'm making this big of a deal out of it, you can probably tell.

The ride to back to my apartment was pure torture. Fuck. We're going to fuck. There was no question in that. Keenan said so back at the park. Anxiety came in the form of thick vines that wrapped tight enough to suffocate me. I was stiff again, head lost in thoughts. Damn it, is my apartment clean? I tried to remember what my place looked like before we left.

I shot Keenan a look, noting that he truly is the opposite of me. Whereas I was minutes away from bursting, he was as composed as... as composed as a Keenan. I cursed myself for being so weak in the presence of my mentor. Does he have that effect on everyone or am I just pathetic?

For two adults who live independently, the night is young for thirty minutes past ten. Shit. Will he stay the night? Should I let him? Will he even want to? Hell, maybe we won't fuck at all. Maybe he's changed his mind. I glanced at Keenan again and his composure mocked me.

Lost in my thoughts, I was oblivious that we had stopped in front of my building until I felt a cold hard glare from my
right. Keenan was holding my door open. The man proved his bluntness, "You're gonna invite me inside, right?"

Slightly flustered, slightly aroused, waist-deep in anticipation, I answered, "Of course. Come on."

We walked to the building, again not touching, but the proximity was driving me berserk. Something told me that Keenan knew what he was doing to me and that he's having a good time seeing me suffer. We reached the stairs, and instead of suffering in another way, I reached down and unstrapped my shoes. My date watched and his face gave no hints of his opinion. With the pair in hand, I ascended.

My apartment smelled like nothing, thank fuck. That was better than it smelling like dust from my shoe hunt hours ago. I flicked the light switch on, and one bulb among three awoke. I threw my shoes to the corner near the door. Keenan strode in, his big frame making my unit look smaller than it is.

"Ta-da," I opened my arms, gesturing weakly at my very humble abode. Although Ki's been in this building before, the man never really got to see my place. I watched him, seeing opinions form in his thick skull. I waited for some insults as he discarded his black jacket.

He only said one thing and I have yet to discover if it's an insult or a compliment, "Your place is very you."

"Small?" I wondered, walking off to my couch and placing my purse on it.

"Yeah," he shrugged, "Among other adjectives."

I searched my place, only then noticing how unexciting it is for me. Should I give him a tour? That would be stupid. The box is only fifty square meters with a three-square-meter bathroom. For a second, I felt ashamed. I wonder what his exes' houses look like. Surely not as crappy as my place.

Keenan wondered freely. His large hands were stuffed into his pockets as he walked to my living area—just a couch, a rug, and the smallest coffee table in the world. I could not decipher the look on his face and it frustrated me. Keenan's feet then brought him to my kitchen, also small. I followed.

"You don't have to act interested, Keenan," I spoke up, blocking his view of the counters that've seen better days, "I know that my place is shit."

He looked at me then. There were only inches between us and I was tempted to kiss him. Don't get me wrong, the guilt for Adil is still present, but it didn't stop me the first time, so I know that it won't stop me tonight. Keenan and I were thinking of the same thing: a move. A move from either of us would be the fuel that we need to set the night on fire. Instead of throwing gas, however, Mr. Travino only rolled his eyes and walked to another portion of my apartment.

I was uncomfortable in my own home. The tall man stalked to my bookshelf and I held my breath. This is it. Keenan Travino's going to judge my type in literature. In plain agony, time slowed as I watched his hand dart out to reach for a cover.

"As you know," the man started, "I'm not fond of throwing compliments around, but you have good taste." and turning around, he held up his own book. Cocky motherfucker.

I glared at his back, "My least favorite," I told him.

He put it back and let his fingertips graze the colorful spines. "Was it a waste of a couple bucks?" he wondered.

I folded my arms in front of me and walked to Mr. Travino's side. A chill buzzed down my spine when I remembered that he wrote seven out of the hundreds of titles on the wooden shelves before us. I have a goddamn celebrity in my apartment and we're gonna fuck. Shit, this must be what they call good karma—for all the times I held girl-friends' hair as they puke in house parties.

"Nah," I told Ki, "I believe that it was enough to buy a man pizza for himself."

His fingers stopped on another one of his books. Should I make him sign it? Maybe I can sell it and replace the damn laptop.

Keenan spoke again, asking a query that sounded like something out of a teenager's slam book. "If you were to date any fictional character, who would—"

"I choose?" I cut him off. Keenan faced me, hands in his pockets again.

I thought about it. Who would I date? Is this some kind of personality test? My response was heavily biased, but I felt smart for thinking of it. "Terrence Ambrose," I answered with a smirk. Keenan's face remained expressionless, once again giving no hints.

"You?"

"Sophie Neveu," his shoulders bounced and the smallest, most adorable frown appeared on his face, "But I guess Karylle's also good."

I narrowed my eyes at the alien. "Are you flirting with me?"

Keenan scoffed and walked past me, "Am I?"

I turned around to see that he stopped in front of the bathroom door. "Are you?" I threw the question back. I guess we're not complete opposites; we're both stubborn.

His hand reached for the knob. "That's just the bath—" Keenan opened the door and stepped in, "Okay." I muttered. He didn't close the door and I took it as a sign to proceed. When's the sex coming? Maybe I should just strip, get on my knees, and ask for his dick.

Keenan flicked the switch on. My small bathroom looked like a coffin for the large man. Right before the sink, Keenan was facing the mirror. Is this fucker checking himself out? He sensed my gaze and turned his head to me. What he said next had my ovaries squealing, "Come here."

With gelatin lower limbs, I gingerly made my way to his side. There isn't much room for two grown adults, especially when one of them is built like a god. Not Greek, not Roman, just... godlike, yes?

Once again, we found ourselves only inches away from each other's body. When he gazed down at me, everything started burning: my core, my chest, my ears, and the spot between my legs. Keenan is one of those people who'll make you teary-eyed when you stare intensely at them. His face, his eyes—hypnotic.

I felt hands at my sides and I forgot how to breathe. How does one breathe? What was life before no breathing? I can't fucking remember. The man spoke, and his voice was soft and rough at the same time, "Your effort to look good was not wasted." he said. His face approached mine and I thought he was about to kiss me. Instead, my mentor's lips met my neck.

He continued, "But when I asked you out, you didn't look like this." the hands on my waist traveled down my hips. The anticipation had reached my chin, about to drown me.

Keenan pulled away. His face was a lean away from mine, "So don't put it in your head that you need to look like this," he turned me around, and we faced the mirror, "All the time. When you're with me, at least."

I stared at us. The top of my head stopped right at Keenan's shoulder. Miraculously, my makeup was still intact. The blue of my eyes, compared to the last time I checked, have gotten darker—the anticipation that speckled it was replaced with a dim shade of lust and it was all because of the man behind me. I've never tried imagining what I look like alongside Keenan. To my internal shock, we look nice together. If I lower my standards just a bit more, I'd say that we look good. Because of that, I had a hard time prying my eyes off from the mirror.

I watched him sweep away the hair blocking my neck, gathering the long brown locks behind me. Then, I watched his head fall to my shoulder. I watched his lips kiss a line from the base of my neck to my cheek. I watched a hand grab my chin to turn my head to the side where, for the first time tonight, we kissed.

The man's warmth engulfed me when his chest met my back. One arm was wrapped around my waist as the hand of the other grabbed at my chest. Pain shot through and my whimper was caught by Keenan's mouth.

I looked in front of us again. My cheeks have gained color, almost as if I'd been slapped. Keenan's lips were parted and looked more delicious than the three-hundred-dollar meal from earlier. My eyes followed his hands. The man's fingers worked the knot of my wrap dress. My lungs demanded for air, but I could only accommodate with shallow breaths. When the tie came off and the garment was parted in the middle, revealing my body, we froze.

I froze out of exposure—it was laced with a feverish elation. Keenan froze due to his discovery. I was shy, and covering up crossed my mind, but the excitement that my bones possessed overpowered their intentions.

My cheeks were cupped by one large hand which turned my face to the side again. Keenan's eyebrows were furrowed, but he was not particularly mad. Frustrated, yes. I could tell by the bulge against my lower back. "You were waiting for this, weren't you?" he talked through gritted teeth. I gulped. I nodded. Have I mentioned that he's hot? I'll gladly say it again: he's hot. So fucking hot.

The dress was pulled off of my shoulders, then tossed to the sink. I took a second to admire myself. The articles were right: a good set of lingerie truly is a good investment. After a once-over, my focus flew to Keenan's face. Turns out, we were looking at the same thing: me—my half-naked body with sheer black lace covering what needed to be covered. It took a drastic leap of confidence not to cover up when Keenan feasted his eyes.

Revenge isn't always best served cold. In Keenan's case, it's best served hot. To my death, demise, and downfall, his fingers found the buttons of his shirt. He was watching me watch him undress in the mirror; revealing more and more of his body until the button-up opened in the middle, displaying a pack of muscles and a hard chest under tan skin.

The desire to have his body against mine hit me like a ten-wheeler. It was strong and painful, both physically and emotionally. For the nth time in the night, Keenan was neglecting the aspect of touch. I felt cold. I waited for him to caress me in all the places that would make my cheeks turn pink. Instead of letting his hands linger freely, he blew two words into the air:

"Bend over."