And ugh. Why do I like it?
A fresh wave of arousal runs through me, causing a full body shiver and an outbreak of gooseflesh to erupt over my chest.
Blake’s lips hover an inch away from mine, but never quite landing.
Up this close, I can see the tinge of blue in his iris; less forest green than I originally thought. Two twin dimples bracket either side of his mouth, his laughter lines deeply etched as if he smiles often.
I like that.
I like it a lot.
Small creases decorate the sides of his eyes too; the fine lines staying there even when his features relax. It gives him a slight rugged look that doesn’t quite match his styled hair, the perfectly ironed button down he wears and the polished shine of his shoes.
I wonder how old he is? Late twenties I’d say, if I had to guess. Maybe my age – twenty-seven – or perhaps a year or two older? I’m about to ask, my lips parting, tongue darting out to wet my kiss bitten flesh, when the taxi driver slams on his breaks abruptly.
“Is here alright, mate?”
I follow Blake’s gaze to peer out of the window, a high-rise grey apartment block swimming into my vision.
“Here’s fine,” Blake replies, slowly, so fucking slowly, pulling his hand out of my skirt and trailing his fingers along the inner portion of my thigh.
He holds his mobile aloft to the portable card machine until it flashes from green to red, threading his fingers through mine and placing a foot out on to the street beyond, before the taxi driver can even say thank you.
I follow Blake across the pavement to the glass double doors of the high-rise apartment block, waiting as he punches in a four-digit code and then shoves the door open with his broad shoulder. He ushers me into the – thankfully – empty elevator first, jabbing his knuckle into one of the lit-up buttons for his floor and then moulding his hands to the curve of my hips, keeping me close to him.
I tilt my head, peering up at him, feeling my stomach flutter.
Um…
“I’ll pay you back for the ride when we get upstairs” I say, mainly to pull my thoughts away from fluttering butterfliesand back into the very reason we’re here, riding the elevator to Blake’s apartment.
“I don’t want paying back,” he replies gruffly, smoothing his fingertips along the satin feel of my skirt.
“Well, I want to,” I argue, squeezing the box of condoms in my palm until the sharp plastic edges dig into my flesh, sure to leave a red groove behind. “Pay you back and ride you. That is.”
I catch the second Blake’s eyes widen in surprise, before he laughs, loudly, throwing his head back, throat exposed. He’s still guffawing throatily as the doors open with an over enthusiasticding,grabbing my hand to lead me down a short, plain, whitewashed corridor lined with a door on either side.
With practised ease, Blake threads his key into the lock, twisting it and tugging me inside.
I don’t get much of glimpse of the interior, before Blake’s lips descend onto mine, one hand in my hair, the other pushing the hem of my skirt up toward my hips. I’m just as desperate to touch him, to feel him inside of me. My heart hammers wildly against my ribcage, as I wrap my left leg around Blake’s trim waist, kissing him back just as desperately.
“Hmph,” I huff when my back makes solid contact with a wall, Blake’s grip around both of my thighs, tightening.
“Sorry,” he mumbles against my Cupid’s bow.
I suck his tongue into my mouth in response.
Crossing my ankles at the centre-most point of Blake’s lower back, I tilt my pelvis up an inch or two, passing my core against the hard bulge in his jeans.
“Calla—shit.” I grin into his stubble coated jawline, pleasure rumbling through me.
I drag my cloth covered pussy over him again, tipping the crown of my head back to rest upon the cool wall. Blake’sfingers dig into the thick flesh of my arse, urging me to keep going even when my heels fall from the arches of my feet, hitting the laminate tile of his flooring with a clatter.
“Do you have downstairs neighbours?” I pant, chest rising and cresting rapidly.
Blake nods, nibbling on the curve of my neck. “They can complain if they want. I don’t really give it a shit.”
I giggle, the sound bouncing off the walls of his apartment as he carries me through to his bedroom. It smells like him, I realise, somewhere deep in the back of my mind; a mixture of the expensive aftershave I’ve licked from his neck and a man’s deodorant.
