No Strings Attached

Chapter Four

“You’re still mine,” he growled out against her flesh as his mouth descended in pounding kisses down her slender neck, breath crashing and catching against the chords in her throat as she threw her head back on her shoulders.

She couldn’t disagree – she didn’t even have the strength enough to push him away – because how do you lie to your own body? How do you tell it not to feel this rampant sensuality when it’s the only physical touch you haven’t flinched away from in more than seven months?

His moist kisses were leaving a trail of molten lava in their wake, crackles of electricity stirring with each touch of his lips against her skin so that a phoenix rose from the embers of her sexuality. She became no more than a catalyst for the crazed arousal that he was wreaking on her senses. His breath against her skin was hot and moist, her own emerging from her lips ravaged and panting; she was lost in the sensations, drowning in his touch.

“Don’t tell me this isn’t real,” he was muttering, his fingertips reaching up to cup her chin, tilting back her head, while his thumb rested against the pounding pulse at the base of her neck, “I’ve dreamed of it, don’t tell me it’s not real...”

She wouldn’t even have been able to form the words, let alone speak them - she was so lost in the long dormant passions that he was releasing in her blood. One hand broke free, reaching up to run her fingers over his military cut dark hair – the short strands abrasive against her skin, as his hands moved to the zipper at the side of her cream chiffon dress, and rolled down the flimsy material. Her nipples beaded in response to the chill of the night air as they were exposed, and he gently closed his teeth around one, rolling his tongue over the enclosed flesh. Reaction shot through her, so that she clenched her thighs in anticipation, clutching his head to her chest, her heartbeat stilted and broken beneath his touch.

He halted the ministrations for long enough to pick her up bridal style off the grass, and lay her down gently on the patio stones beneath his feet, arranging her short, stylish hair back into order, before putting his lips back to hers with a low, erotic groan. His tongue shot into her mouth – a ravenous kiss that betrayed his consuming need for her body, the force of which crushed her head back against the unyielding concrete. She kissed him back with a matching hunger; it had been so long since his lips had touched hers before tonight that suddenly she was starved of his touch.

She’d been in love with him since she was fifteen years old – he was completely right. Her subconscious mind chasing a fire that only he could put out in her blood - that only his touch could assuage.

And with a cold chill that had nothing to do with the gentle breeze that struck after sunset, she froze, realising just how very fucking unhealthy their relationship had always been. She wasn’t fifteen anymore, and she couldn’t live out those idealistic fantasies – if anyone could chase away the demons, it would have to be her, because if she couldn’t do that for herself, then she was screwed.

“Nate ... Fuck,” she mumbled desperately between hot, wet kisses, “This is ... Fuck ... We shouldn’t be doing this ...”

Feebly, she pushed him away - just enough so that he leaned back to look into her wary eyes, disturbed from their earlier blazing inferno, but the spell was broken – she could think again, and she huffed out a grunt as she pulled her clothes back into some semblance of order, flashing daggers at him as he sat there in contemplative silence.