Checkmate

27| Out of control

The rush of heat to my thighs is instant. He suddenly lifts me, carrying me through the basement and setting me on the countertop. My hands are quick to snake around his neck. Like before, our kisses are laced with a hint of self-loathing, but the masochist in me craves it.

It's a little less terrifying this time around but somehow more thrilling. His teeth catch my lip, and I let out a moan that seems to drive him crazy. He grabs my hips, fingers settling into the dips, and pulls me toward him. My breath catches; I can feel every inch of him, the front of his sweatpants hard and taut as he presses against me. I'm not exactly Mother Theresa – Chase and I fooled around plenty of times – but nothing like this.

Blake's tongue teases mine in a battle of dominance. I'd always assumed he'd taste bitter like poison, but he always tastes minty and sweet. I lean forward a little, giving him the perfect view down my shirt, and his breath roughens.

"Are you contagious?" I manage.

"Is this your idea of flirting?"

"No, you're sick." My words come out muffled as I press my mouth to the side of his neck. God, it's so smooth. Warm. "How contagious are we talking? My debate is on Tuesday." As good as it feels to kiss him again, I'm not about to risk the campaign.

"I'm not sick." He pulls back a little, dragging his gaze to my lips. "Not physically, anyway."

"Then why haven't you been at school? Why did you miss my campaign meeting?"

His jaw clenches. He looks to the ceiling like he's on the verge of a breakdown. "Your timing is one of a kind, you know that?" I'm still holding his waist, on the verge of slipping my hands beneath his t-shirt and running them up his chest. "I had to make some money on short notice."

"Are you–"

He uses his mouth to silence me. I forget what I'm saying as his hand slowly slips beneath my shirt. The brush of his fingertips over my stomach makes me shudder. I kiss him harder, my thighs pulsating as I briefly imagine what it would feel like to take this thing further – further than I've ever gone with anyone.

His mouth drops to my throat as I shiver. That roaming hand beneath my shirt now brushes my bra, pinching me through the material. It takes all I have not to melt on the spot because melting means having to stop what we're doing, and I don't want to do that. I pull him in closer, my breathing hot and heavy in his ear, which seems to make him harder.

I keep thinking about how we got here, but it's impossible to remember. All I can think about is how much I'd miss this if things suddenly stopped. And yet, in the back of my mind, those whispers of doubt creep back in. How many girls has he kissed? How many has he slept with? I'm certain my kisses don't compare to his numbers, and sex is something I've yet to experience, but I'm certain he has; what if I pale in comparison?

The gentle motion of his thumb on my bra throws those doubts out of existence. I lose myself to the feel of his touch, kissing and touching and tasting. It feels like hours pass, but neither of us shows any signs of giving up. Blake uses his hand to push away my knee, further spreading my legs. I swallow hard, able to tell from the look in his eyes what's playing on his mind; the same thing is playing on mine.

He pops the button of my jeans, eyes on mine as he waits for permission. I'm so caught up in the heat of the moment that I find myself nodding. As someone used to planning things out, it's hard to admit how much I can't think straight, can't focus on anything but the feel of Blake's hands as they dip into my jeans. I reach for his t-shirt, about to rip it off, when voices sound from behind the basement door.

We both jump back as the door swings open and in walk his friends. I have just enough time before Freddie looks over to zip up my jeans. "Oh," Freddie says before grinning. "What do we have here?"