I rake my fingers in his hair, pull him closer.
If it all comes out messy, I don’t care.
“I don’t talk—never do—” I shake my head, fighting the unfamiliar words clawing their way out of my throat against my will. “You—fuck, Andrew, I need you to know that you're ruining the end for me?—”
His breath stutters to a stall.
His grip at the back of my head tightens,
eyes sliding between mine,
brows slanted upward
like he's not sure he heard right.
I swallow.
“Usually I'm reaching for an orgasm.
“But with you,
“I don't even care if there is one.”
Can’t believe I’m fucking saying this shit.
Something must’ve possessed me.
“I don't wanna finish.
“I just want this...
“And I know it doesn't make sense.
“But I'm good here?—"
He’s gone completely still.
His chest’s barely moving.
His jaw’s clenching.
Shit. He’s not saying anything.
Is this where he pulls away?
Is this where I lose him?
Then his fingers drag up the back of my head,
fisting my hair,
tugging at the roots,
stepping in closer,
pinning me up against the wall.
And then his mouth?—
