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Shane wants me. He wants me. The words spin in my mind in colorful, dizzying circles. I mean, he’s kissing me. Would he kiss me if he didn’t? Why won’t he let me close?
His teeth nip at my lips, making me gasp, sending jolts of fire into my core, and he walks me backward until my back hits the wall with a thump. I love all of it, love the feel of his mouth on mine, the strength in his hands, the way I have to strain upward to meet his mouth because he’s so tall. I’m so caught in the sensations that I jerk when he moves closer.
He’s breathing raggedly against my mouth. He finally crushes his body to mine, pressing me to the wall, letting me feel how aroused he is. His hard-on is long and thick, digging into my belly.
Damn, this boy’s so hot I could come just from that.
But then his grip on my jaw turns so hard it hurts. I whimper, and he stops moving, every muscle turned to stone, his mouth just pressed to mine as he pants.
Why? No, I don’t want him to stop. I like how hard he’s gripping me, how he’s bearing on me until I can feel every ridge of every muscle through our thick clothes. That he’s holding me like he’ll drown if he lets go, like he’s losing control from wanting me so much.
I want to feel that wanted. That needed. No one has ever reacted that way with me—and there’s never been anyone I’ve wanted so much. Liked so much.
My arms are still wrapped around his neck, the silk of his hair tickling my fingers, and I try to pull him closer. I let my hands slip over his powerful shoulders, down his sides, to the front of his pants, stroke over the big bulge there.
There’s the proof that he likes what we’re doing. His dick can’t lie, right?
I kiss his lips, willing him to kiss me back, to touch me more.
But he’s already pulling away, releasing my cheeks, ripping himself from my hold, his eyes wide and wild.
“Fuck,” he breathes and stumbles back. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
And with that, he turns and staggers out of the room. His steps echo in my ears, mingling with my racing heartbeat and my hitching breaths.
Somewhere in his tiny apartment, a door slams.
Whoa. What the hell just happened?
I lift a shaky hand to my burning, tingling lips. His taste lingers on my tongue—fiery and salty with a touch of sweetness. My breasts ache, and there’s a maddening throb between my legs. Why did he turn around and leave me here?
He’s sorry.
An embarrassing burn starts at the back of my eyes. All this time I hesitated to even touch him because he’s my friend, because his friendship, his presence means so much to me. I’d hit on a guy this hot within two minutes of meeting him, but I never hit on Shane, because I thought he didn’t want me—and now he goes and kisses me, then escapes and shuts himself up in his bedroom.
Even worse, what does that mean for our friendship? I can’t bear the thought of not seeing him around, not shooting pool with him and having beers. He’s the one person I feel comfortable with, the one I trust, the only one who stood by me and didn’t condemn me.
Crap on a stick, how did it come to this? I pass my arm over my eyes and refuse to cry. I’ve cried enough over the past few months for my bad choices, but this? This isn’t on me. He’s the one who kissed me.
“Shane.” I force my voice to be steady and strong. “Shane! I’m going, okay?”
No reply.
Of course. He’s made his point by apologizing and leaving. It was a mistake. Maybe he just wanted to see what it was like, kissing the girl everyone kisses, and let’s face it, he was piss-drunk, and I knew it from the moment I saw him at the bar. He didn’t really want me. He wanted a warm body, and I was there, available, easy.
Always easy. Always available.
Jesus Christ. I can’t be that girl anymore. Things need to change. I need to change. I only wish I knew how. How to be happy without an easy fix, without a random man in my bed and alcohol in my system.
No wonder everyone’s disgusted with me.
Shane probably too. I bet what happened tonight just served to confirm his fears that I’d kiss anyone who shows the slightest interest in me, because I am that pathetic, that lonely. That eager.
He’ll never know he’s different. That I haven’t kissed anyone or slept with anyone in a long time, his face the only one I see when I’m alone.
It doesn’t matter. Manon thinks wanting Shane is a lost cause, and it looks like she’s right.
***
