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“Heart Chakra.” His palm lands on my chest, and I fight the urge to slam my hand over his and keep it there so he can feel what he’s doing to me.

My eyes shutter as his hand travels down farther, stopping between my sternum and my belly button.

“This…this is the Solar Plexus Chakra,” he says, dipping his hand even lower, my eyes following its path. My stomach contracts as his dainty fingers hover just above the waistband of my jeans. “Sacral Chakra.”

Desire pools hot in my gut, my pulse echoing in my cock as it starts to fill, pressing against my zipper.

I flick my eyes to his face. Does he even realize the effect he’s having on me from a few simple touches?

The cadence of his breath picks up, mirroring the pattern of my lungs. He’s staring at my lips, his little pink tongue darting out to wet his own. The way they glisten has me sinking my teeth into my lip to stop myself from slamming into his.

Bellamy’s hand snakes around my back, his body shifting forward slightly as he slips it up under the fabric of my shirt. He presses firmly into the base of my spine, hard enough that his ass slips on the terrazzo counter, putting his crotch almost against my belly. His lips are so fucking close to mine, his face only inches away.

“What chakra is this?” I whisper, my lips tingling with the need to just take. But I won’t. I can’t, not when I promised we’d go slow.

“Root,” he whispers, fingers still splayed across my spine.

The world narrows down to that touch.

I watch his face change in slow motion. It starts in his eyes, as it always did. A sparking of desire, making his pupils swell and fire race across his cheekbones. I can see every fleck of amber, gold, and brown in his eyes as they burn into me, blistering me with want.

He surges forward, crashing his lips into mine. It’s instinctual, the way my mouth opens for him, a groan rumbling through my throat as my fingers burrow into his hair and slot against his jaw.

He tastes like home, his tongue sliding into my mouth and finding all the places it used to know. My own finds his, and all I can think is that there’s no point in telling myself not to fall in love with him again.

Because I never fell out of love with him in the first place.

The kiss turns breathless and we quickly lose ourselves, his soft sighs sending bolts of pleasure down to my crotch. I buck against the counter, the friction painful but needed.

I break the kiss, sliding my mouth across his jaw to his pierced ear, and the spot just behind it that used to drive him wild.

“Fuck…” he whimpers as my tongue traces his veins. His hands dig into the muscle of my shoulders with feverish desperation.

“You still like that, Babybell?” I tease, suckling at the spot.

His hips slide forward, seeking friction against my abdomen. One of his hands winds into the black strands at the base of my neck, tugging until I come up for air. His lips aren’t nearly swollen enough.

“Remind me what it was like,” he breathes, tightening his fist in my hair. It hurts, but it’s so fucking hot I’m more than happy to oblige.

I pull him in tightly, lifting him off the counter. He wraps his arms around my neck, taking my lips again.

“I thought”—kiss—“you wanted to”—kiss—“go slow.” I struggle to get the words out around the battle of our tongues, but I need to know where his head is at.

“Just make me feel good, Sunday,” he whines, diving back into the kiss.

Good soldiers follow orders.

I walk over to the sectional, grunting when I whack my shin on the coffee table. Bellamy pulls off to ask if I’m okay, but I squash his concern by throwing him on the couch. He squeals as he bounces, landing with a huff.

His waves fan out under his head like a halo, his arms reaching over his head to reveal a sliver of perfectly flat belly. There’s a hint of muscle there, and it drives me fucking insane.

I line my crotch up with his, giving an experimental roll of my hips. I brace my arms either side of his head and let him moan right into my mouth, drinking it down greedily as I grind down again.

We continue like that for a while, this fervent rocking of our hips, denim on denim, hardness on hardness. He writhes against me, releasing subtle, breathy whines that make me leak in my boxers.

Urgent pressure fills me fast, below the belt, but also in my head. The two sensations are at war with each other, one pleasant, one sickening.

I pull away, blinking at the dark fog bleeding into the edges of my vision. Intuitive person that he is, Bellamy’s grinding stops and he pushes up to his elbows. He says my name, but it feels far, far away.