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I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Make me.”
“Baby, thought you’d never ask.”
There was no hesitation in his next move. His lips came crashing down on mine hungrily, sucking my oxygen and ripping my mouth open savagely, his tongue claiming mine in a kiss that made me whimper. I became lightheaded as our tongues entwined. He cradled my head in his rough palms to keep me contained, but I still thrust and thrashed, catching his lips whenever he pulled away for breath, biting and groaning, begging for more. The bandage on my forehead rustled, unfurling between us as we devoured one another. The kiss was impatient, demanding, feral, like he was already rooted deep inside me. Like this was the main dish, and not an appetizer, not a checklist to move on to something else.
I scooped his lower lip between my teeth, sucking it into my mouth, tracing it with my tongue. I snaked my hand between us and shoved my palm into his pants and boxers, cupping his dick and squeezing hard. The fat tip of his cock dripped warm precum into my palm. He let out a hiss of pleasure, pressing into my hand, and liquid warmth spread inside my chest.
“Shit, fuck,” he hissed into my mouth. In a frenzy, I circled my fingers around his shaft from the base, my thumb struggling to meet my index he was so thick. The kiss became wetter, sloppier when I began pumping his dick, stroking while massaging his balls with my pinky each time I hit the root. A feral growl of pleasure left his mouth. He grabbed my ass with quivering fingers, grinding against my hand with punishing force, releasing one of my ass cheeks only to slip his hand under the layers of jackets and shirts I was wearing, finding my bra and twisting one of my nipples through it. A shot of pleasure arrowed through me, and I moaned loudly, my center exploding with heat.
My phone began ringing somewhere from the depths of my bag. I recognized the ringtone. “Friends” by BTS. Crap.
“Dylan…” I groaned into our kiss.
“Wrong sibling,” he grumbled huskily, sucking and licking, exploring my mouth like it was ancient ruins in Greece. He rubbed my nipple with his thumb, pinching and teasing it, making the rush of heat between my legs unbearable and uncomfortable. I needed release. “But fuck, you can call me Stalin and I’d still stay for the pussy right now.”
“No, Row, Dylan is going to kill us.” I flattened a hand on his chest, ripping my mouth from his as I tried to sober up. I jerked my hand from his crotch, blindly patting the snow for my bag as the ringtone kept on singing.
Row reluctantly unglued his mouth from mine, breathless and off-kilter. His hair was a delicious mess. I tugged the phone from my backpack, but he grabbed it before I could answer and tossed it a foot from us. “Remember I told you that she knows?”
“Hmm, did you, now?” I must’ve misheard him. A side effect of all my blood moving to my clit.
“Yes. All the blood must’ve rushed to your clit.” Row bracketed my ears with his elbows, thumbing away my flyaways, staring deep into my eyes.
“Told her what?”
“That I was going to fuck you in every position. On every surface in this town. In every hole in your fucking body.” He was dead serious, looking me straight in the eye. “She said she’s okay with it. Oh, and that you’re prone to ear infections.”
I was. And I appreciated the fact my best friend didn’t want me going deaf because of one horny, ill-advised decision.
“You told her you want to…screw me?” I blinked.
“No, Dot. I spared her every obscene thing I want to do to you. Like how I want to watch my cum dripping from between your lips. Fuck you against windows and doors and national goddamn symbols.” He was still staring, and our genitals were still pressed together, waiting for the okay to pounce on each other. “So instead, I just mentioned I wanted to pursue you. Scratch that itch, to put it diplomatically.”
I wanted him to scratch the itch. Hell, I wanted him to peel me sheet by sheet until I was completely raw. And it scared me, that I wanted all those things with him. That I wanted anything at all with a man after what Franco had put me through.
“Cal, are you crying?” He frowned, looking concerned. “That’s…not something that happens too frequently when I get together with a woman.”
Oops. My face felt extra cold and wet. “A little.” I rushed to wipe off my tears. “I’m just moved that Dylan’s forgiven me, is all.” Technically, not a lie. “I won’t do anything until I ask for her permission, though. Just to be on the safe side this time.”
He gave me an exasperated look. “Fine. My dick’s about to fall off from the cold and erection anyway.”
A giggle laced into my hiccup. I swatted his chest. “Move, then.”
“Hey, Bitchy?” He stopped.
“Yes, Mac?”
“You’re okay with what we just did, right?” He kissed my temple, still pinning me to the ground, and I had a feeling he was still on top of me because he was afraid I’d fall apart and break, and was keeping me together to ensure I was all right.
I nodded. I wanted to do it again, naked and often. I wanted more kissing and touching and nipping and sucking. But I wanted the other stuff too. The conversations and the movies and the hand-holding. To be his. For him to be mine.
“Yeah?” He tilted his chin down, assessing me.
“Yeah.”
“I just…” I started, not sure what I wanted to say. “I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”
Me. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want to need to collect my scattered pieces when this is all over. It took me years after Franco. Years.
