His hand moves faster, and he presses against me, pushing his fingers deeper. Then, my breaths are coming faster. I’m panting while I squirm in front of him, hungry for so much more than what’s being given, but unwilling to admit that out loud.
We’ve added kindling to this wicked fire for months now, stoking it day in and day out with our warped fusion of cruel words and ceaseless lust. Now, I’m not so sure we can contain what we’ve created. It has a life all its own. A monster that thrives on our hatred and sexual frustration. And believe me, we have fed this beast well.
I can’t help but to question whether it will linger forever, breathing heat down our backs, forcing us to give in to it, one way or another. Like now, as the pressure in my core swells, becoming impossible to ignore. And even more as my thighs clamp tight around West’s hand. As I arch away from his chest and drop my head back against his shoulder.
He’s breathing in my ear again, making sure all my senses are overwhelmed by only him when he speaks next.
“Come for me,” he whispers, soft and deep, an invitation.
He gets his wish, almost on command. A soft cry leaves my mouth and I’m shuddering in his arms, proving how badly I craved this. And it had to be him. No one else.
His hand goes still when I finish, and then, eventually, he slips it out of my bathing suit. I’m kept close, though, which I don’t hate. The arm not latching us to the edge wraps around me and becomes something like an embrace. Despite myself, I revel in the feel of it and, after several seconds, my breaths slow to normal.
Silence creeps in and so does reality. Only, it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it would be.
I feel his heart racing against me and don’t fight when he spins me to face him. The sated look in his eyes is unexpected but fitting. This spark between us is unpredictable, untamed. It feeds into this obsession we have with one another. The one that causes us to make these erratic, split-second decisions. It’s also the reason I’m suddenly triggered all over again, wanting him like I didn’t just climax.
He grips the edge of the pool with both hands now, and I cling to him. Locking my ankles behind his hips, I bring him as close as I can, feeling the solid bulge in his trunks pressing into me. There’s urgency in our kiss when his lips find mine. In the moment, I want nothing more than to taste him like this forever.
But I’m not sure I can keep this up, going to extremes with him. One second, he’s hot, the next he’s ice cold.
The sound of a door opening barely registers, but when it slams shut again it’s slightly harder to ignore.
Reluctantly, West and I separate ourselves, but when I peer up, I don’t spot anyone. We’re still alone. I face West again and feel what he’s about to say before he even says it.
“I should go,” he announces with a sigh. “Practice probably ended by now, which is why I’m willing to bet that was one of my brothers coming to rush me.”
Not wanting to seem desperate, I nod instead of asking him to stay a while like my heart is begging me to do.
“Okay,” I say softly, reaching for the edge.
I’m trying to pull myself out, but West puts a stop to that, holding me in place. Just when I think he’s finished with me, I’m brought close again. This time when his mouth covers mine, I’m aware of how different it feels. This kiss is heavy, it’s emotional, it’s not steeped in frustration or some hidden agenda.
It’s … just a kiss. Like the kind you give someone who means something to you. The kind you need to tide you over until you see them again.
When West pulls away, my head spins a little.
“You’re coming with the team to regionals when we make it?” he asks, still breathing a bit raggedly.
First, I answer with a nod, and then volley a look between his eyes and lips. “How’d you know?”
He flashes a crafty smirk that makes my gut twist in knots.
“Not much gets past me,” is his answer, which I already figured.
“Stalker,” I tease.
His smile dims a bit and his intense focus feeds my ego more than I want to admit. “Only one I stalk these days is you, Southside.”
He makes my heart do such wild things and, for the first time, the nickname he’s given me doesn’t sound like an insult.
Curious, I tear my attention away from his lips and meet his gaze. “Why’d you ask if I’d be there?” I question him.
He doesn’t blink and I hold my breath.
“Because I’m tired of pretending this isn’t headed where it’s headed,” he says boldly.
I taste him on my tongue, despite the distance between us.
“So, what do we do about that?” The question comes out softly and heat blooms in the pit of my stomach while I await his answer.
He glances down at my mouth again, but this time his eyes stay trained there.
“We fuck,” he growls.
There’s no apology embedded in that statement whatsoever, because West always means every word he utters and takes nothing back. Ever.
And, this time … I don’t want him to.
He’s in my ear again and I feel every inch of my body screaming to be touched by him.
“Think about it,” is all he says, and then he climbs out onto the tile. He offers his hand to help me, but once I’m on my feet he walks off like nothing happened, leaving me to ponder the proposition.
I don’t think I’ve ever been faced with a more tempting offer, but I’m against the idea for obvious reasons. Still, with what I know about how things escalate when West and I are on our own, I’m not sure resisting him
