“I love the way you say my name,” I whisper.
He grins faintly. “Lilly.”
“Again.”
“Lilly.”
“Again.”
“Lil—“
I kiss him.
I cross the desert. I run full force into the mirage and I don’t care if he’s nothing real, if he’ll slip through my fingers like hot sand against my aching skin. I don’t care if he’s heaven or he’s hell. I have to taste him. I have to devour the feeling of being full, of being made whole by the weight of his eyes and his hands and his tongue that runs along my lips, dipping into my mouth, and stealing my breath.
He makes me feel real, he makes me feel good, like I’m me for the first time in years, and when his hands pull me closer he makes me feel warm. Hot. Burning and yearning as I wrap my arms around his neck, toss my leg across his lap, and lean into him with my whole body. My whole heart.
“Lilly,” he breathes, his lips gliding along my jaw. Down my throat. They press against my chest as I weave my fingers through the soft tresses of his hair.
His hands splay across my back, pulling me closer. Holding me firm. I lean into them, arcing back as his lips go lower. His tongue glides down my skin, dipping between my breasts. I shudder against him, making him moan, the sound reverberating through my bones.
Colt’s right hand rises. It tugs at the strap of his white tank top already loose on my body. He drags it down my arm, exposing my skin. My breast.
“Lilly.”
His lips are slow. Soft.
My heart hammers fast. Hard.
The rough surface of his tongue drags across my nipple, making me gasp. Making me writhe and rise, my hips circling against his as his lips wrap around me. He sucks at me hard. He licks me softly. The thin material of the boxers he lent me ride up my thighs as I grind against him, building a friction between us that electrifies the cool air. The hair on my arms stands up straight, a chill rushing through my entire body, leaving fire in its wake.
I release him long enough to pull my shirt off over my head. His breath across my skin feels unreal. Impossible as this moment. As his hands on my bare sides and the hard roll of his chest under my palms. I rip at his shirt, pulling it up and off of him, casting it aside, God knows where. I’m not calm, not satisfied, until his hot skin is smooth against my fingertips.
Colt takes a second to stare at me. His hands rise slowly, tickling over my ribs and tracing delicately around my breasts, over my collar bone, up my neck into my hair where he grips me, wrapping the strands around his fingers. Then his mouth is on me again. He holds me by my hair, pulling me to him, and I grip his shoulders so hard it has to hurt, the steel of his muscle biting back against my fingers. He doesn’t complain. Instead he moans, his tongue going wild, making me gasp and buck, curse and cry out, my head tilted back, my face to the sky. To the hidden stars. To the burning bright fire above me, inside me. Cold as ice and brilliantly white, blurring and swirling as my body winds up with each rough thrust of my hips against his. Every brush of his lips across my breasts.
“Lilly.”
His voice is growing desperate. His hand falls to my back, over my ass, and he’s setting the rhythm. It’s quick but steady. Demanding. The thin fabric of his shorts doesn’t give up much resistance. I can feel him right where I want him and I know he feels me too. He breathes hard and hot across my chest, his other hand gripping my hair so hard it hurts. I whimper as I cling to him. As I thrust harder, faster, my body striking against his like flint until finally, finally, finally - flame.
“Ohh!” I cry out, my body going rigid in his hands. “Colt, fuck!”
He pulls my face down to his, covering my mouth with his lips. Feasting on the moans that erupt from my throat. His breath comes hard from his nose, his hand on my ass still grinding me against his body until he grunts into my mouth and his fingers grip me recklessly.
“Shit,” he curses breathlessly. “Holy fucking shit.”
We hold on to each other as we come down. As the sound of the night rebuilds around us, pushing in through our ragged breaths and the gentle creek of the leather couch underneath him. His face falls to my breast, no longer teasing but resting, his arms wrapping around me gently.
I slowly trip my fingertips across his shoulders. “Did you…?”
He laughs shakily. “Yeah, I did. I haven’t come with my pants on since I was sixteen. That was…” He leans back, rubs his hand over my face, repeating, “Holy shit.”
I smile at him. I feel a strange sense of pride in the lost look on his face. I take it as a victory as I lean down to take his mouth with mine, kissing him softly. Sweetly.
There’s so much strength in him, enough to break me in two with his bare hands, but when he kisses me, when he holds me now, it’s the gentlest feeling in the world. It makes me feel solid and tethered, like I’m not the things I think I am. I’m not a ghost. I’m not a memory, not tonight.