There's a Rebel in My Bed! [✓]

17. Love On Top

                                            There’s a Rebel in My Bed!

                                            Chapter 17 – Love On Top

                Song of The Chapter: Countdown by Beyoncé (2011)

 

Sat down to edit this to perfection. VOTE (95) and COMMENT (40) on it and sorry for such a long hiatus.

 

 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Good Evening.”

“…Good Evening.”

“How are You?”

I blinked, “You’ve been watching too much gay movies.”

Jacob’s smile bounced from wall to wall and was blindingly captivating; more than the walls that were currently dressed tightly in the dancing light from the candles. “I’m not surprised you know that one.”

I raised a brow, just slightly offended, but mostly just strangely amused. “Are saying that I’m too gay?”

He shrugged; and did so with the goofiest, strangest, oddest, most alluring laugh I might have just ever had the privilege of hearing. “You could dial back the neck rolls. ”

“You say that as if you’re so straight.” I retorted and to my amusement, his grin faltered a bit but remained otherwise intact. “Do I need to remind you who you’re doing?” I questioned, tongue-in-cheek and as brash and condescending as possible.

His eyes flared, amusingly so, before his mouth opened to retort, “I don’t need to be reminded who I’m screwing because he shouts my name every night.”

That phrase earned him a hard nudge at the center of his forehead that saw his head snap back hard enough to produce an eerie (yet, satisfying) snapping sound.

He brought his head back up and tried to put on the angriest face he could. But, his quivering lips and snorts that were leaking laughter betrayed him dearly. “You could have broken my neck, you know.” He said before he laughed, unable to hold back any longer.

“Not my problem.” I chimed.

He furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes, “You’d miss me.” He assured with an expression that was sculpted out of both delicate honesty and a rough humor.

“That’s debatable.” I snorted in response, leaving his eyes and traveled to his tall, white hamper of unclean (and overflowing) clothes that sat close to his closet on the far left side of his room.

It wasn’t until I wrinkled my nose at the mountain of gym socks and smelly underwear that his hands grabbed my chin and with gentle force, guided my eyes back to him. “I bet your lips would.” He teased, swiftly darting forward to connect our lips for one of the small kisses that I had graciously become accustomed to.

Once he pulled back and the room stopped spinning long enough to refocus on him – on all of him – tanned skin, blonde hair and all, I found the strength to smile. “I’ll give you that one.”

He smiled, and for a second, I could have sworn I was looking into a mirror. The emotion – the joy, happiness, comfort, love – the radiated off of him was something that I was sure I was feeling too. That kind of smile could not have been mustered up for smiling’s sake. It could not have been manipulative or condescending; there was too much genuine sincerity glowing from it to be.