"There's just something about you" he said looking at me, almost like he could see my soul
"Something about me?... it's the chase Elliot, you'll get bored at the end." I respond with a shrug looking anywhere but at him.
" No it's not just the...
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We watched each other
At this point it was a game of wills and I quiet frankly was loosing mine.
Elliot was a thorn in my flesh, a thorn that I needed to get out so I would stop feeling a numbing ache in my freaking bones.
So if letting him have his way with me tonight was going to get him out of my flesh, I was ready to make that sacrifice.
Before I could over think it and let the logical part of my mind win, I turned around and kissed him.
I initiated the kiss, me... The me who swore that getting tongue tied with Elliot won't happen again was kissing Elliot.
I wish I could say that kissing him was horrible... It wasn't, it was hot and satisfying and brain numbing... In a good way.
He lets out a groan deepening the kiss, keeping me wedged between him and the counter that was currently digging into my back.
And when I think I have control,he deepens the kiss stealing it away from me faster than I can blink, exploring my mouth like he hadn't kissed me before.
Maybe it was the alcohol(I would like to think that it was the alcohol) but the thought of Elliot taking me on the counter excited me.
As usual he let his hands roam free on my skin, marking me in ways he would never know.
Tearing his lips away from mine, he trails kisses down my neck, but unlike last time it isn't soft and calculated, it's hard and careless like he didn't care where he left his mark.
He mumbles something about brownies and before I can think about it, I find myself sitted on the cold counter behind me.
"Let's make a bet Brownie." He rasps
Brownie?
"What's the bet?" I whisper my voice husky from the lack of actually using it.
He had piqued my interest, I was a competitive fuck, everybody knew that, and here he was using that against me.
And here I was letting him
He kept a little distance between us, like he needed space to think about his next words, like my presence was distracting, That made me feel good, way too good for someone who had made a detailed plan on how to get rid of him.
"I get you to moan, and you forgive me."
"Forgive you for what?" I asked confused.
"For getting you stuck in the middle of that stupid rumour." He replies taking a step closer.
The back of my heel meeting his gut has him taking a pause.
