“So? We’re just dancing. Does there have to be a time requirement?”
“What about Miranda?”
“What about her?”
“We should invite her, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. Go ahead and call her.”
I lift my phone to my ear waiting for Miranda to pick up. She doesn’t. Okay, so it looks like it’ll just be me and Will tonight. I send her a text, secretly hoping that she doesn’t call me back.
Ten minutes later, Will is sitting on my couch, scrolling through his phone while I’m in my bathroom changing into a going out outfit: lightwash jeans and a black corset top.
When I walk out, Will stands up and just looks at me, making me feel incredibly self conscious. I run a hand over my top, worried that I’m showing too much boob. “You look great,” Will says, sounding stiff and weird.
“Yeah, I’m changing.”
“No! You look fine. Don’t change, for real, you look good.” He stands in front of me, taking one of my hands in his, spinning me around once as he lets his eyes travel over my body top down. He doesn’t drop my hand, neither do I as he continues looking down at me, eyes trained on my lips. He darts out his tongue, before speaking low and soft, “You look perfect.” And for the second time tonight I think he’s going to kiss me.
I want him to kiss me despite the small voice reminding me that we can’t. That Miranda will never forgive me.
He shuffles his feet just a little closer to me, leaning his head down, whispering in my ear, “Let’s go dancing.”
Somehow both my hands are on his chest between us now as his hands are spanning the small of my back. “Alright,” I whisper, swallowing, “let’s go dancing.” I slide my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and loop them behind his neck. He pulls me forward until the front of our bodies are pressed against each other, the heat of him seeping through the layers of fabric and settling deep into my skin.
The way he’s looking at me makes me feel strange and fluttery. My breath catches when runs his lips up the column of my neck and then right up to the shell of my ear, “We should probably go to the bar.” The scruff on his chin is just barely scratching me, causing chills to skitter down my arm and my nipples to pebble.
My fingers are playing in the back of his hair, lightly grazing along the place where his neck dips under his collar. “Yeah, we definitely should go to the bar,” I whisper, tilting my face up toward his. I can’t tell if the pounding I feel in the center of my chest is from him or me. This is insane, he’s not actually going to kiss me.
His throat bobs, then he leans down, just a fraction of an inch, his nose nudging against mine, our lips almost touching, breath mingling together. “Then let's go to the bar.”
“Okay,” I say, eyes sliding closed, one hand sliding fully into the back of his hair. He tightens his grip, pulling me harder into him at the same as closing the distance between us, pressing his lips against mine. I hear wooshing in my ears and my entire body feels like it's tingling as he takes my lips in a tender and gentle kiss. I’ve imagined how Will would kiss me thousands of times. How he would feel, what he would do. He’s gentler than I imagined, and that fact makes my stomach swoop.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pushing myself against him harder. He licks along the seam of my mouth, groaning when I part my lips and push my tongue against his, deepening the kiss. His hands are on my ass, gripping me.
He bends his knees and picks me up, my ankles hooking behind his back until he drops us backward onto my couch. In this position, our bodies are aligned, my desperate and achy center moves over the hard bulge of him. Hitting my center in just the right way.
I’m struggling to remember why I’m not allowed to have sex with Will when it would be so easy to take off all my clothes and slide down his length.Miranda!I promised Miranda I would never kiss, date, or hook-up with Will. I made this promise to her multiple times. I pinky swore.
Will sucks my bottom lip between his teeth while bucking his hips ever so slightly against me, causing the seam of my pants to brush against my clit. “Fuck,” he moans against my mouth, bucking his hips once more.
I want this so badly but Miranda keeps flashing behind my eyes, causing a low roiling guilt to form in my stomach. I’m struck with a surge of anxiety and paranoia so sharp it pierces my arousal. Anxiety about Miranda finding out, about losing her as my friend. Paranoia about being watched, about Will not actually being attracted to me and this all being some big sick joke that I’m not in on.
I push against his chest with both hands, lift my leg and unstraddle him. “We should go if we’re going to go.”
“Why did you stop?” He sits on my couch, looking confused and delightfully disheveled.
“Because we,” I motion between our chests, “can’t do this.”
He frowns, “Why?”
I purse my lips and tilt my head. “You know why.”
“Because of Miranda?”
“Yes, Will. Because of Miranda. She’ll never forgive me if we have sex. Plus because of me too. I’m all messed up. I have been ever since Carter posted those pictures of me. I have problems now, with trusting people. And I can pretty much guarantee I will freak out if we have sex.”
“First of all, who said anything about sex?” I narrow my eyes in his direction. “Okay fair,” he shrugs one shoulder, standing up from my couch and walking toward the front door. “What if we don’t tell her?” I open my mouth to comment but he continues, “besides, I already know you have issues. I can assure you I’m more than willing to go at whatever pace you want.”
