Insatiably You | l.s.

Chapter 2 (Edited)

LouisLouisLouis is all my brain has seemingly been able to focus on since this morning, and I hate it. I hate that I can't seem to forget him, and I despise the fact that his charisma has seemingly tattooed itself on my brain, consuming my every waking thought and every waking breath.

He should be the furthest thing on my mind. I should have forgotten him the moment I entered the cab. I should not spare a second thought on him, especially since I should be paying attention to my Art History lesson instead of daydreaming about a certain pair of blue eyes.

It's been three days since I last saw him. Three days since we were intimate with each other, yet for some inexplicable reason, I can't seem to rid the feeling of his lips on mine and the intensity with which his piercing blue eyes found solace in my green ones as we obtained absolute bliss.

I just can't forget it. I remember everything—every moment we shared, inebriated or not.

I remember the way he tasted of vodka and peppermint. The way he made a soft whining sound in his throat as I gently bit his lower lip, even though he was the more dominant of us two. I remember him locking our fingers together as we came. The way he called me 'love', ensuring I was alright afterwards and allowing me to stay cuddled to his body, as though he were mine just for a few moments longer. I remember him gently kissing me, brushing the stray curls out of my eyes, and giving me privacy as I dressed, regardless of seeing me naked and vulnerable earlier that night.

Above all, I remember him helping me get into a cab after everything and the lingering kiss he placed on my lips before the driver sped off into the distance.

I know it was meaningless sex for him. I know it was; it should have been the same for me too, but for some unexplainable reason, I just can't forget the feeling of his body on top of mine. I can't forget the way we seemed to fit so perfectly together, as though he was the missing puzzle piece needed to activate my most carnal desires, inevitably making my toes curl and my body writhe in pleasure.

It drives me crazy that I can still feel the drag of his teeth on my exposed skin. That I can still sense his calloused fingers delicately brushing the fleshy skin on my hips and his mouth gently sucking marks on my inner thighs.

It is as though my skin is an inferno at the mere thought of our night together, as though heat is pulsing through my veins, burning my insides, and begging me to acknowledge its presence. Begging me to remember Louis but punishing me with the reality of never being allowed to have him ever again.

No matter how hard I try or what I do, flashbacks of that night keep racing through my mind.

It is as though God is punishing me on purpose.

I hate going out. I hate clubbing. I hate one-night stands, so what made Friday night any different from the rest? Why is Louis any different from the other guys I've had sex with?

Sure, the list isn't too extensive, but I'm no blushing virgin either. So why did he affect me this way? Why are his eyes constantly there, tormenting me when I close mine? Why can I still feel his lips on mine? Why can't I just forget him?

I can attest that he was by far the best I've ever had and akin to the beauty of Achilles himself, but nevertheless, he shouldn't be affecting me in this way. It's simply not fair.

It's not fair that the one night I try to do something careless with someone is the one night I can't forget them. The one night I try to do something that doesn't involve my canvas and camera—the one night I try to not be so me—is the one night I regret and cherish the most.

However, the most unfair of it all is that the one night I'm guilted into going out is the one night I had to meet him.

I should have just stayed at home in my sweats and woolly socks, with paint smeared across my face, getting drunk on cherry wine, and wasting away instead of slutting around. I should have never listened to Niall and Liam and agreed to go with them. At least if I hadn't, I wouldn't be feeling like the biggest loser, daydreaming over a fucking one-night stand.