Lost in Hollywood

The Ugly Truth

That kiss was a match to a gas tank. It was a spark that caused an explosion that obliterated everything else from Hawk's mind - his Dad, the fight, the shame, the tears - everything disappeared the moment Sky's lips touched his.

It was impossible, it was beautiful, it was everything he had ever wanted— and God, how good it felt. There was a sun inside of Hawk's chest, burning him to ashes, but he was happy to burn, to go down in this flame. Her lips tasted like Tequila and Cherry ice cream, they opened to him, the kiss turned hard, desperate, his tongue dipped deep between her lips and he drank the taste of her tears, of his blood—

He couldn't believe this was happening. Oh God, oh God, oh God, how much he had wanted this, how much he needed this, her hands that moved to his neck, pulling him closer, her body that was soft and hot and perfect, Oh, how he loved every inch of her, how he was dying to get closer, to have more, more, more.

She broke the kiss, her fast, heavy breathing falling to his lips and her eyes were wide, deep, pupils dilated as if she was looking at the moon.

"Sky—" his voice came out hoarse.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "This is a horrible idea."

He swallowed hard. "You wanna— you wanna stop?"

"No. You?"

"Fuck, no!"

Her lips crashed back to his, a desperate whine leaving her mouth into his, and from that point on, nothing mattered. He was a flame of passion, and she was burning in his arms. He pulled her into his lap, her thighs were on both sides of his hips and she glued her soft, hot body against his, kissed him like she was starving, like she was dying, just as he was dying for her, burning to ashes under her touch.

It was just like in his dreams, but better, because this wasn't a dream, this was real, this time he wouldn't wake up alone in his bed, alone and cold and bitter, tears running down his face. This was real, this was happening, this was really fucking happening—

His hands brushed through her hair, freed her curls from the messy bun, and they fell around their faces as a strawberry-scented veil. The insides of her mouth were so fucking hot and slick, the sounds she was making into the kiss were frying his brain, they erased every conscious thought from his mind. Her tongue lapped over the scar on his lip, sweet like candy, God, he would never get enough, he wanted this moment to never end.

The silky smoothness of her skin against his palms was fucking perfect. He was hard already, the pressure in his pants was agonizing, his heart was racing in his chest, breaking through his ribs as he shoved up her T-shirt with trembling hands. Jesus Christ— she wasn't even wearing a bra, her boobs were right there, just waiting for his touch, their nipples already hardened—

"Eli—" She broke the kiss, and ripped off her shirt, giving him full access to grab her boobs. "Oh my God, Eli—"

His name on her lips was like hearing angels singing. His chest felt like it would collapse, his breathing came in fast, strangled exhales as he tried to feel every part of her body, his hands moving from her waist to her boobs, to her back— and then to her boobs again, because fucking hell, he had dreamed about them a thousand times, and yet they were even more perfect than he had remembered, so incredibly soft, they fitted his palms like they were sculpted for his touch.

And then it was his shirt that was ripped off, and her hands were on his body. The kisses never stopped, their tongues met and he was drinking the sounds she made as her fingers gripped his biceps, the muscles on his shoulders, her fingertips slid down his chest over his racing heart. Oh God, how he wished he had never covered her name he'd had tattooed on his chest, that he could just erase the grim reaper with the sheer force of his mind, because he had never stopped loving her, her name should still be on his skin, a testament of his love, of his devotion—