Trouble

|Chapter Twenty-Six| American Starwort

[American starwort]: Welcome to a stranger

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His kiss is a punishment, an awakening, a little death I'll forever crave to experience over and over again.

His right hand travels to rest on my lower back, pressing my body against his possessively, as the other slides down slightly until it's wrapped around my neck, as if he's afraid I'll run away and will do anything to prevent it.

The way his fingers flex around my neck is so surprisingly satisfying, I sigh contently. Desperate for more, I tilt my head back so he can force his tongue deeper inside my mouth and consume me until we're one and the same.

When I feel his need for me pressing against my stomach, I let out a shocked gasp, fisting his shirt helplessly, allowing him to swallow every sound I make, steal every breath I own, and practically eat my whole face up.

There's nothing gentle in the way he consumes me, holds me, nothing gentle in the way I move my body against his to get rid of this itch I've never felt inside of me before.

We've never touched like this before, with honest desperation and abandon as if we can't live another second without each other.

And if before I could feel my soul leave my body whenever he touched the most intimate parts of me, this kiss makes all the same emotions supernaturally heightened.

It's different, the way he kisses me, bites me, adds pressure around my neck, grinds into me. It feels like a declaration that I am his, only his. I'm his now to do whatever he pleases, and the idea of it alone makes me glow.

Because, God, am I his, always have been, will never stop. Even before he was willing to take me for himself, I'd already given myself to him, body, mind, and soul.

I've never belonged to anyone but him and the way he's proudly owning me right now makes my heart cry with joy.

"Fucking despise you," he whispers roughly, before biting my lower lip, dragging it out like a savage and making me crave it more. But then he's kissing my mouth better all over again as if to apologize.

"Can't stop thinking about you and I hate it." He countinues hoarsely, breathing the words out between quick kisses. "See your face everywhere I look and it's killing me. What have you done to me, huh?"

My answer is an unintelligible version of his name, as I explore his mouth, dying a little death as I taste mint, whiskey, and something that I can only describe as my Conor-coded remedy.

When we both start to practically struggle for our breaths, he pulls back just a little to press his forehead against mine, never losing his grip around my neck and lower back.

The air is heavy with our shallow breaths and gasps, and I keep my eyes closed to stop the spinning in my head because I still can't believe what is happening.