“H-How?” I ask innocently, belying the daring action of my body. His stern, professor-y voice is doing things to me, making me wild, uncontrolled.
For a second, he’s silent, just watching. I’m afraid he’ll back out from whatever this is, whatever insanity we’re about to commit—but then I sense the shift in the liquor-laced air as he opens his mouth and growls, “Like this.”
Twisting my hair in his grasp, he swallows my lips in his mouth. He sucks on the shape of my sensitive flesh and all I can do is let him. I put my palms on his shoulders, feeling the heated muscles under the soft material of his t-shirt. His chest shifts and slides over my breasts, like a wave of water. I want to be drenched with it. I want every drop of his sweat, his lust on every inch of my skin. I pull him toward me so he can crush me with his massive weight.
He doesn’t budge though. He stands there, unfazed, still devouring my lips, immobile. His tongue thrusts in and licks me from the inside—the roof of my mouth, my tongue, my teeth. He is after my essence, the special taste that lives deep. He growls when he gets it, my flavor, and the pressure of his grip on my hair increases tenfold.
It’s painful, but not enough to tamp down my arousal. I give up my attempts to bring him to me. Rather, I go to him. I lift my leg and wrap it around his waist. My hands creep up and lock around his neck. I climb him like an ivy, toxic and poisonous and shameless.
I press my body to his and kiss him back with everything I am. I pour my soul into it. For these few moments, I become a balm to his pain.
But it doesn’t last long. My selfishness and my need for him take over. My core starts leaking and it becomes hard to remember I’m only meant to give, not to take.
I rotate my hips, searching for that magical friction against the ridged planes of his body. Then I feel it—his erection against my upper tummy. It’s huge. Hard. A heated rod. It’s alive, and when I move against it, I feel it throb. A tortured moan rips out of his chest.
Thomas tears his mouth away from me and even my soul mourns the loss. We stare at each other, gasping for breath. I’m still clung around him and his cock is still nestled between our aroused bodies. I adjust my thigh around his hip, and it throbs with the small movement.
“Don’t fucking move,” he tells me, emphasizing it with a tug on my hair.
“Okay.” I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
A pained chuckle. “For what?”
“I made you kiss me.”
The legendary tic makes its appearance at the heel of my words. It drums on his jaw like a secondary heart, or maybe a time bomb. “You did, didn’t you?”
Unable to talk, I simply nod.
In answer, he lodges his thigh between my legs and presses on my core. It’s an electric shock multiplied by a strike of lightning, and I almost burst into flames.
“Wh-What…” I try to speak but he increases the pressure, eliciting a moan from me.
“Why?” he whispers, noting my lusty reactions. “Why did you make me do it, Layla?”
“Because I—”
Again, he repeats his movements, reducing me to wordless, needy moans. What is he doing?
“Because you what?”
“Because I do this kind of thing. I-I’m selfish and bad…” I moan, doused in shame and arousal. “I take what I want because I can’t control myself. I don’t want to.”
“And you want me, don’t you?” When I don’t answer, he tugs on my hair sharply. “You want me, Layla.”
It’s not a question, but still I nod my head. Yes, I want him. I’ve wanted him since the first time I saw him. I want him more and more with each passing day. I want him because he’s like me. He’s in unrequited love and I want to save him, somehow.
His eyes shine with satisfaction, a sense of victory at my answer. He loves my desperation and it makes me hornier.
We’re so fucked, my omniscient heart says. I agree.
“I can do whatever I want with you and you’ll let me. Isn’t that right, Layla?” He licks his lips as if savoring his own words. “I can tell you to jump and you’ll ask how high. I can tell you to strip and you’ll strip as if your clothes are on fire.”
“Yes,” I moan.
He rewards me by grinding his muscular thigh and my cunt pulses. My lust-addled brain commands me to move, to chase the friction, and I do it. I slide up and down his maddening leg, digging my nails into his scalp as the pleasure mounts.
I feel the angry and rhythmic jerk of his cock on my stomach and I love it. I love the fact that I’ve shed all my inhibitions and am reduced to this, a lust-drunk puppet. I love that it gives Thomas pleasure. He isn’t sad anymore, or vulnerable.
Yes, I love all that.
His pain has become my pain, and it’s going to make me come on his leg. I watch Thomas with hazy eyes. I watch the arrogant slope of his flushed cheeks. I watch his dilated pupils, his wet, parted lips. All the while, I’m moving, humping his leg. Up and down. Up and down.
“Of course you will,” he rasps. “Will you come for me, Layla?”
I jerk out a nod. In the back of my mind, I know how wrong this is, how shameful, but I can’t stop myself. As Thomas said, I’ll do anything for him in this moment.
My movements are haphazard now, jerky, epileptic. I want it so bad. I want my cum to gush so hard it seeps through my panties and leaves a wet patch on his jeans.
The graphic, vulgar thought pushes me over the edge. Hard and moaning, I come, just the way I wanted—no, just the way he wanted. I was simply following his orders. My mind is filled with cotton and shooting stars and static. I want to bask in it forever.
Oh God, it’s so good. So good.
The pressure on my body eases. I don’t feel his muscles between my legs, and the harsh grip on my hair has vanished. In the wake of my orgasm, Thomas has let me go, and in turn, forced me to unwind my body from his.
I’m still recovering from my climax, leaning against the wall for balance, but I try to focus. Thomas is watching me, intensely, his flaming eyes working double-time to take me in, his hands on either side of my head.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Layla? Can you hear your heart beating? Is it trying to pound through your chest? Do you think you can control it? Tell it to calm down? Your hips are still shaking. I bet you’re still leaking cum, aren’t you? Do you think you can control any of that?”
I shake my head.
“Yeah, that’s right. You’d be surprised to know how many things aren’t your fault at all.” His eyes bore into mine, as if telling me the importance of his declaration.
For a second, I can’t make the connection between what he’s telling me and what happened here, but then I get it. He’s absolving me. He’s rendering me blameless for kissing him, for making him kiss me. I wonder if this absolution includes what happened with Caleb. Am I free of those sins too?
My heart scoffs. Are you kidding? We tricked him into having sex.
“I saw you,” I blurt out without thinking.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know in my bones that this will destroy whatever kindness he’s harboring toward me.