I should turn around.Walk away before this spirals any further.Let this whole fucked-up plan crash and burn right here, with my pride barely clinging to what’s left of it.
I start to turn, to walk away before I unravel right here in front of him.
But then… he turns. And just like that, every part of me that was ready to run forgets how.
And the second his eyes land on me… fuck.
Everything just stops.
Not the room.Not the air.But me.Like my pulse forgets how to beat, my lungs forget how to breathe.My whole body short-circuits under the weight of that stare.It’s burning, brutal, and made of every unspoken thing we’ve both been trying to outrun.
His gaze crashes into mine, trying to gut me open, searching for the weak spot I haven’t shown anyone in years.Then it drops… slow.Too fucking slow.Scraping down every inch of my skin, dragging over the places he used to touch, tasting the memory of it.
There’s something in the way he looks at me that makes me feel already on my knees.He’s replaying every second of how I wanted him last night, committing it to memory, not for nostalgia, but for precision.So he can break me better this time.Ruin me right.
And I hate that I’m still standing here, burning alive under his eyes, wondering if his cock’s as hard as the look he’s giving me right now.Wondering if that stare means he still wants to fuck me… Or just finish what he started.
Either way, I know I’d let him. And that might be the most fucked-up part of all.
It hits before I’m ready.That stolen breath.That full-body betrayal.Goosebumps flare across my skin, heat and hunger tangled up in one sharp rush.My nipples tighten, tuned to his eyes, aching, needing, desperate for the touch that isn’t there yet.
And then I see it hit him, in the way it catches in his throat.The hard swallow.The twitch in his jaw.That flicker in his eyes, something feral breaking loose.
His hands flex at his sides, and fuck, it’s all there.He doesn’t know if he wants to reach for me as if I’m holy, something to worship… or something to ruin.
Then slowly, his gaze drops down to the lace.To that thin strip of black clinging between my thighs, barely there, delicate as breath and twice as dangerous.
His stare lingers, heavy, with weight behind it.Pressure and promise rolled into one.He hasn’t moved.Hasn’t spoken.Hasn’t even blinked.But my body’s already responding, obeying some unspoken command.It remembers, every time he touched me.And worse, every time he didn’t, but should’ve.
His lips part, just barely, but it’s enough.
Enough to make my stomach twist into knots.Enough to make my thighs clench—they already know what’s coming.Then his tongue flicks out, slow and deliberate, dragging across his bottom lip as if he’s tasting me from across the room.
My breath stutters, and I fucking hate how much power that stupid little move has over me.But it’s him.It’s always been him.
Then he shifts, subtle, but I catch it.The slight roll of his hips.The way he adjusts his stance, like his cock’s too hard, too heavy to ignore, straining against the denim, begging, starving for release.I wonder if it’s twitching.If it’s already leaking.
Is he imagining pushing me up against the wall, tearing the lace from my thighs and burying himself deep, hard, ruthless?
And now all I can think about is what he’d do if I closed the distance.If I dropped to my knees and gave him exactly what that ache is screaming for.Because I’m aching for it too.I feel my pulse everywhere.Between my legs, under my skin, in my throat.
My nipples are tight, aching, and the heat between my thighs is unbearable.I’m fucking soaked.Shamefully so.Like my body’s already decided for me.
Then he moves toward me, all heat and hunger in motion, every second without me written in the tension of his body.
The space between us disappears in seconds and when he reaches me, it’s not soft.His hand fists in my hair, dragging my head back just enough to force my eyes to his…and fuck, the look in them.He’s not just looking at me.He’s consuming me.Like he’s already fucking me in his head, deciding exactly how he’s going to make me fall apart.
“You’ve been playing with fire, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with want.“Now you’re going to burn.”
His mouth crashes onto mine, no warning, no hesitation.All teeth and tongue and raw hunger.I gasp into it, already drowning, already behind.
This isn’t a kiss.It’s a fucking claim.He doesn’t just want me, he needs me.I’m the fix after starvation.The thing his mouth was made for.And now, there’s no hiding it.I’m his to ruin, to wreck, to consume by his hands, his tongue, his cock and he’s done pretending otherwise.
A moan rips out of me when his arm snakes around my waist, dragging me tight against him.He’s all heat and muscle and sin, a solid wall I never stood a chance against.And then I feel him, hard and thick, grinding into me through denim like his cock’s trying to carve its shape into my body.
Holy fuck.
He’s huge.And he’s not being subtle about a damn thing.
