Dark Wild Night

“That bleeding song plays the whole time anyway.” He doesn’t look my way, but smiles at this. “I’d want to make just enough noise so that you could hear me,” he says, turning onto his street. As soon as he says it, I remember the sound of his rhythmic grunts, his hoarse, guttural exhales as he fucks me hard.

He pulls to the curb and shuts off the engine, turning to look at me. The engine ticks through the silent car, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and all the way up my throat as he slowly leans in, his focus entirely on my lips.

The house is right there, twenty steps to inside, but we’re here, kissing like we haven’t been alone in a year. Oliver kisses me for minutes, for days, until my mouth is sore from the beard I don’t want him to shave; he’s tongue and teeth and growl while he presses me into the door. I can feel his hunger in the way he stretches across the center console and cups my head in his hand. I can feel it in the noises that escape every time he gets me at a different angle, every time I pull him in deeper, bite him, suck on his lips.

“Take me inside.”

“I will take you. Inside,” he says, laughing and opening the door behind me so we half-tumble out together and he has to crawl awkwardly out of my side of the car, practically laying me down on the sidewalk. Anyone walking by would think we were drunk.

Is that what this is?

It’s chemistry, I know that for sure, something numbing and piercing at once, something that makes me feel like I’m alive for the first time and dead in other ways—murdered memories of what anyone else felt like before this man. Murdered memories of what it felt like to be over a hundred miles away.

I know the weight of his hands and body, how he tastes just like me after only two deep kisses, the way his laughs turn into moans, and how he watches my hands when I touch him.

Oliver pulls me up so I’m standing and throws me over his shoulder, charging down the walkway and bursting into the house. He lowers me so that I slide down his front, all along him, and feel his chest and stomach and his cock pressing at me from beneath his jeans. His fingers tickle my waist, he gives me a tiny smile and my shirt is up and off, followed by my bra.

The breeze picks up and the open door squeaks on its hinges, Oliver’s R2-D2 knocker rattling against the wood. The cool air rolls along my skin, over goose bumps that pebble my arms and stomach. I kick the door closed, blocking out the intrusion of this one additional string left loose and untended. Quiet seals up around us, and then all I can hear is the soft sound of Oliver kissing up my neck.

His hands curve over my breasts, my waist, my hips. My pants are unbuttoned and sweetly coaxed down my legs.

I never want to run out of clothes because every time he peels something away, he kisses me lower, hums against the skin, and bites just the smallest bit. It’s like having lust uncorked and poured in bubbly streams across my skin.

“You’re soft in all the best places.” His voice turns to smoke against my skin as he kneels, pulling my underwear down my legs one tiny inch at a time. “Even sweeter than you are soft.”

His mouth finds my breast, nibbling and blowing across the tips while his hands are busy helping me step out of my underwear. The entryway light is on and he looks up at me, whispering, “You like having your tits sucked?”

I nod, bracing my hands on his shoulders, right there, mere feet from his front door. I push into his mouth and wonder how I’m standing naked and he’s fully clothed, and I feel like I can’t move because I don’t ever want him to stop what he’s doing . . . but I want more. I grow heavy, desire filling the space beneath my skin until I can’t help but beg out loud. He smiles as he kisses me and moves to the other, neglected breast, licking in long draws of his tongue until he gives me what I really want: the closing of his lips around me, the delicious relief of suction.

I stare down at him, at his mess of brown hair brushing against my skin and kiss-swollen lips playing with my breast.