𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟎𝟗. 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬

Her fingers trailed down the warm, golden expanse of his skin, tracing the lines of muscle that seemed to ripple beneath her touch. Drew Starkey—he was a force of nature, all sun-kissed and dangerous, like something crafted by the gods. 

His lips pressed against her temple, soft and tentative, but it was the brush of his thumb from her cheekbone down to her chin that made her exhale, shaky and uneven. 

She could feel his breath mix with hers, the space between them thinning, his mouth lingering so close to hers that it felt like electricity crackling in the air.

When his lips finally found hers again, it wasn't fierce or rushed. It was slow, almost reverent, like he was savoring the moment, drawing it out as long as he could. His breath trembled, and she could feel it through the way his hands clung to her, pulling her deeper into his lap. There was something about Drew that made her feel... safe. Safe in a way she hadn't felt in years.

With her forehead pressed against his, she locked eyes with him, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with his. His gaze was steady, unwavering. "C'mon," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, kissing the freckle on her neck that always seemed to drive him wild. "We need to celebrate."

Suki raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin as she laced her fingers behind his neck. "Wasn't that celebrating?" she teased, her voice husky from their closeness. She couldn't help but lean in, her body instinctively moving toward him even when her words tried to keep it casual.

Drew shook his head, that cocky, infuriating grin spreading across his face, his eyes dark with mischief. "Suki," he said, clicking his tongue against his teeth like he knew something she didn't. "That was inevitable."

She rolled her eyes, and he only grinned wider. God, he loved it when she did that. The way she always tried to act unbothered, like she wasn't just as wrapped up in this as he was. He stood up, buttoning his suit trousers with an effortless cool. "Let's go," he said, holding out his hand, his eyes not leaving hers for a second.

"Drew—" she started, her tone edged with resistance, her fingers combing through her tousled hair. She gestured to herself, her lips smudged from his kisses, her hair a wreck from their hands tangled in it. "I don't want to see a bunch of people right now. I mean, look at me."

Before she could protest further, Drew pulled her up abruptly, his hands gripping her waist with an urgency that made her knees weak. He held her close, his body pressed against hers, her palms instinctively resting on his chest. His heart beat fast beneath her touch, but his eyes—they were steady, smoldering.

"I am looking at you, baby," he said, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. His gaze was intense, almost too much to bear, like he could see through her in a way no one else ever had. Her breath hitched, her throat tightening with the weight of the moment.

He tossed her his hoodie, grinning as she gathered her hair into a messy pile atop her head, securing it with the tie she kept on her wrist. She slipped her heels back on, a strange but delicious juxtaposition of casual and glamorous, and she couldn't help but feel the heat of his stare on her. His hand found hers, warm and steady, his grip both delicate and possessive, as if he knew he was holding something fragile.

With a tug, he pulled her close again, her body leaning into his in the doorway. His lips found hers once more, this time with more certainty, more heat. It was the kind of kiss that felt practiced, like they had done this a thousand times before—like their bodies knew the dance by heart.

She liked the way he opened the car door for her, the way his hand lingered on hers as she slid inside. She liked the way he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on her thigh, his thumb making lazy circles over her skin. When she glanced at the dash, she noticed his recent playlist—Sugar High was at the top.