She don’t fight it as he pulls her shirt back down.
“That fuckin' do it for you?”
She’s got no words, a breathy sigh leavin’ her as she melts against the trunk again, her heart and lungs all left behind on his tongue. She’s still face-down, high off him.
Yeah. It fuckin’ did.
He brushes her hair off her face. “Stay here. Breathe a sec. I’ll grab us water,” like they’re some couple post-fuck at a beach house or somethin’. “Two minutes. Don’t move.”
She smiles into the metal, skin buzzin’.
It doesn’tsoundlike a promise—it fuckin’ is.
He locks the car from the inside.
And she lays there against his trunk, dead-limbed, starin’ at his back, watchin’ him go—hands shoved in his pockets, head dipped low, a bassline in his bloodstream.
The Harding walk.
All Jersey-born and trouble-bound.
She watches every step as he walks away, steps echoin’ in the garage.
Watches ‘til he fades into the night.
26 /GORGEOUS - VHS(X)(RERECORDED)
X AMBASSADORS
// ALLISON - NOV 25, 9:28 PM - HOUSE OF VICE — LOWER EAST SIDE, NYC //
My black mini saysfuck me.
My knee high boots saytry me.
My oversized denim jacket saysdon’t.
And Andrew’s text said
I got something for you.
Vague enough to haunt.
Clear enough to drag me out of my penthouse and into this mess at night, where the streets are alive?—
a vein on the verge of bursting.
Taxi lights strobe the curb?—
gold, red, gold, red.
I walk through it, not knowing if it’s the sidewalk or my nerves buzzing.
Can’t hear my own thoughts with the city in my ears:
bass leaking from cracked car windows,
girls laughing,
