RIDE ✧ {H.S.}

24.

"Let's get drunk," He held up an unopened bottle of wine as I spread across the mattress. I was far too familiar with the feeling of these sheets. The fibers dance a softer sensation across my skin with a lack of needy rubbing. It was terrible. All I wanted to do is let myself become undone. But I feared that if we fucked, it wouldn't live up to my craving. I think I'm meant to chase a feeling rather than feel it fully, that means I'll never be disappointed. But I bet he'd be good.

The air felt cooler than before, probably since the sun had shielded and brought the rest of the world with it. His body radiated an alluring warmth across the bed from me, I was desperate for him to share an inkling of heat. We had one blanket and the entire nights sky.

"Might as well," My groggy voice paired with the swift uncork, he popped open the bottle before lifting the lip to his mouth. There was something about the way his lips fastened around the glass edge, his tongue refusing to let air permeate his suction. The pink lip tint turned glossy as he chugged more alcohol. I could see his throat contract with each gulp, his Addams apple moving with the motion. Such a sensitive area that would surely be soft to the touch.

I bet my fingers could find the most eager part of his neck, travel across each vein, and find the most tender spots. I could make him tick.

"Do you think we'd get caught, if we did it here?" He knelt onto the bed, selfishly keeping the wine to himself.

I had no inhibitions holding me back from laughing while my hands cupped around my flush cheeks. I was burning red, something that the moon luckily wouldn't light. It felt like I was shielding every part of myself by denying him my smile.

"They'd have a nice balcony view of us," I gestured towards the house. All interior lights were off.

"Arial view of all the things I'd do to you," His dimpled smile pursed around the wine bottom, taking another greedy gulp, "Reminds me of the mirror I have mounted above my bed."

"Of course you have a mirror above your bed," I chuckled, "I doubt you could get off without staring at yourself."

"I am quite an object to behold,"

"Objects like you shouldn't talk so much," my drunken finger grazed against his lips. The skin was a bit chapped, like he'd been licking them far too often and bruising the delicate skin.

I trailed from the outer corner to the center of his mouth, just waiting for a reaction. I felt heat escape his mouth as it began to open, engulfing my finger. The way he sucked on the flesh gave me a primal, guttural feeling. It was surely an erogenous zone that I hadn't fully discovered until now.

"Must everything be so dirty with you?" I teased. My finger lingered in his mouth as his tongue took its last few laps around my prints. I retracted myself from the newfound wetness.

"Everything can be dirty," Nothing he said lacked subtext. He wants me to affirm this sickness, this everlasting burn that I couldn't dampen.

"I know," My hands tussled through my hair, loose strands tickling the inside of my palm, "And you don't let me forget."

"I just can't, forget-" He almost spoke to himself, drafting an idea as to how he felt. There was a synonymous unraveling of emotion and terrible lamenting. It seemed to be a stream-of-conscious habit.

"Hm?" My eyebrows peaked as I bit away my smile.

"I just can't forget you. It's like your body is always on mine,"

"Your body has no connection to me. All the things you say lead to no action."

"Action?" He chuckled, "I thought that's the very thing you're afraid of." It was almost like he'd read my mind, or maybe he was smart enough to see my pattern of detachment and emotional neglect. I'd be there for every inspiring flirt, but leave the second anything got too close for me.