Fight or Flight (Eddie Munson x Y/N)

28. "That's Not Her Style"*

You try your best to keep up with Eddie; you notice him looking behind his shoulder, hair whipping into his face, making sure you were still with him. The rain is coming down hard, big droplets pelting down, drenching you from head to toe. So much for your makeup...

Your hair is dripping down your back with every step you take, followed by the squish sounds of your black Converse.

Finally, you see Eddie's trailer in sight. "Thank fucking god," you shout. Eddie quickly lets you in and you race past him.

"Oh my god," you say laughing, your button down sticking to your skin like papermache. You take it off, throwing it by shoes left by the front door. You arch your back, arms over your head, and slick your hair back, hearing excess water hit the floor behind you.

What happens next is so fast you barely have time to process it. You realize the only sound in the room is your own laughter; Eddie isn't joining in on it. He's not smiling. His eyes are dark, fixated. You're not sure what he's looking at until you realize your thin, white shirt has completely soaked through, becoming mere gossamer over your breasts. The cold of the rain does little to leave anything to the imagination, giving him an image he had only fantasized about up until this point.

He's been so patient, so gentle with you thus far. But the image you've unintentionally given him puts him over the edge. You see a brief flash in his eyes, like he's making a decision, one that becomes apparent in the handful of steps it takes for him to cross the divide between the two of you and crash his lips into yours. His desperate tongue opens your mouth, the kiss harder, more urgent than any of the others. You make a muffled noise of surprise as you collide. One hand flies to the back of your neck to steady you from the force with which he approached you, the other hand resting on the side of your neck.

It's not long, though, before he's steadied his frenzied energy As he continues to kiss you, one hand slowly starts traveling down your collarbone, your chest, and to the curve of your breast. He gently cups it, fitting it easily in the palm of his hand, and runs a thumb achingly slow over the hardness of your nipple.

"Oh my god..." you whimper into his mouth, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you from the sensation it sends throughout your body. He does it again, slow circles around your nipple, until you can't take it anymore. You wrap two fingers around his belt loops, pulling his hips into yours; you feel the massive bulge strain against his jeans.

"Fuck..." he growls, grabbing the back of your thighs to throw your legs around his waist. His full lips dip down to your neck --biting, kissing, sucking--as he walks you down the hallway to his bedroom. When his shins hit the foot of the bed, he holds you to him with one hand, the other finding the bed so he can put you down softly on top of it.

His fingers find the button of your jeans. Again, he pauses for your go-head, which you give by rolling your hips off the bed and into his hand. He takes the cue, unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans. As he takes them off, he kisses down between your breasts and stomach, his lips leaving every place they touch on absolute fire. He lets the rain soaked denim drop to the floor before he takes off his own Hellfire shirt.

He falters, standing there staring at you, flimsy white shirt clinging to your perfect breasts, satin red thong the only thing between him and making you scream his name.

In his pause, you sit up and crawl on your knees over to where he stands, looming over you like a god. You lazily trace his tattoos with your finger, kissing all of them in kind, making him shiver. You want to take in every moment with him. Every sight, every sensation. And you want the same for him.

You look up at him through your eyelashes, eyes a mixture of innocence and desire. You grab the hem of your shirt, and never breaking eye contact, pulling it slowly over your head, letting your hair cascade around your shoulders and the curve of your breasts.